Sticks and Stones
by EnsignRicky
Summary: Darth Sidious's rise to power was supposed to be smooth and efficient.  Grievous, being the stubborn cyborg that he is, refused to roll over and die.  Now Darth Vader is chasing him around the galaxy, Grievous is bashing droids, and canon is completely, utterly, screwed up. I still don't own Star Wars.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N  
Hello! This is my first story, so reviews are very welcome. Constructive criticism is accepted and will be used to build and correct any mistakes, but flames will be ignored. This is short, but if you guys want more, be sure to let me know. Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: Copyright of Star Wars goes to Disney. I do not claim to own anything.**

"Have the droid armies completed shutdown, Viceroy?" the blue image of Darth Sidious spoke.

Nute Gunray shuddered. He hated that voice. So calm and menacing. That voice had convinced him to attack the peaceful planet of Naboo, 13 standard years earlier. He had been tricked by that voice. Betrayed by it.

The Viceroy shuddered again. He had been drawn into this war. Lured by promises of fortune and free trade, the pure desperation of his situation after the trials, and by the words of Count Dooku.

_Count Dooku,_ he thought, _also a sith_. Dooku had lied and betrayed him, just as Sidious had done. Only after he had gave his allegiance to the CIS had Dooku revealed the truth. That he too was a sith lord, and Sidious's apprentice.

He had wanted to leave, to salvage what he could and get out of the mess. But then Geonosis had came, and it was too late, for any of the Separatist council.

They were locked in.

He had then wanted to keep a low head in the war, minimize his losses, but no. He soon became one of the biggest targets for the Republic. He was positive he was in the top five on their most desired list.

The entirety of the Council had been on the run for almost a year. From Belderone to Utapau to here on Mustafar. Dooku had been killed at the failed attack on Coruscant, Grievous had been unheard from since Utapau, and now here Gunray was. Leader of the CIS.

That probably put him at the very top of the most desired list. Not the place to be in if you wanted to keep a low profile.

"Yes, my lord. Nearly an hour ago," Gunray said.

"Well done, Viceroy. You and the rest of the council will be handsomely rewarded for your efforts. When my new apprentice, Darth Vader arrives, he will... take care of you." the hologram responded.

"Thank you, my lord," Gunray answered, while silently he was thinking, _Another one? How many of these people are there?_

Excited chatter erupted as soon as the hologram faded. The rest of the surviving CIS Council. It seemed they liked the idea of being rewarded.

Gunray had almost failed to notice that they were in the room with him. It appeared that they had forgotten how badly the war was going.

It had been going well at first, they had pushed the Republic out of nearly every system in the outer rim. Then, things had gone wrong. The Republic's clone army, even if outnumbered by over 10 to 1 in _every battle_, had _somehow_ managed to accomplish the nigh impossible, and take back all the systems they had lost, along with many that had defected to the CIS peacefully. Gunray sighed.

Unless Grievous had survived, the CIS was doomed. As much as the Viceroy hated the repulsive cyborg, he was the best military commander they had. They could survive under a commander like him.

* * *

Grievous awoke to a world of pain. Attempting to move, he struggled against several restraints that hold him in place. "He's awake!" a voice says. Highly distorted, his extremely damaged ears can barely hear the words.

Trying to speak, he opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. "Turn on his vocabulator," the same voice speaks, still barely audible.

A few clicks emanate from his mouth, signaling his newly found ability to talk. "W-what?" he rasps. "Sir, you suffered some… damages. We had to completely repair your body." He recognizes that voice now. One of his elite IG-100 magnaguards. The droid is standing by a control console, behind him medical droids of various descriptions were monitoring Grievous's condition.

"How did you find me? I- was shot." _By Kenobi,_ he silently added. _The stinking Jedi cheated!_

"When your critical systems began shutting down, your emergency beacon activated. When we found you, you were barely alive, and we had to operate. Your starfighter was also gone. Currently, you are on the _Independence_, orbiting one of Utapau's moons."

Grievous, wondering exactly what "damages" entailed, looked downward. Damages was an understatement.

His armor had been completely removed, revealing decaying scarred tissue from long ago in the shuttle crash. But that was nothing compared to what Kenobi had done to him.

His chest plates were torn open, and inside lay… well, not much of anything now. Where his heart used to be was a repulsing black shape. His lungs, already damaged by Mace Windu, were almost completely obliterated.

Every other organ was gone too far to even be recognizable. Grievous felt stirrings of rage. Kenobi would pay. This was the second time the Jedi had done something like this to him, third if you counted Windu.

Looking back up, he noticed the blue veil of bacta for the first time. "How long do I have to stay in this box?" He asks, getting used to speaking now. "Approximately 3 weeks, sir. By then your surviving organic components will be almost fully healed, and your replacements will be ready to be installed. We then have to replace the cybernetic systems, and you will be fully operational," the magnaguard answered.

He growled. "Very well, but speed up the process as much as possible. There are… certain things that I must accomplish."

"Of course, General," the magnaguard replied.

_Kenobi.. you will pay for what you have done. This is too far…_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N  
Hello to all of you who are reading this story. I know this update is only a day after the last one, but I plan on easing into it more after this, probably 2-3 times a week. Enjoy, and if you want to give feedback, then please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Star Wars. That right goes to Disney.**

The night black starfighter descended into the fiery Mustafar atmosphere, landing on the platform outside of the Kleggor Corp mining facility. Anakin Skywalker stepped out of the starfighter, volcanic ash lightly dusting his boots. No, not Anakin Skywalker.

Darth Vader.

Anakin Skywalker was dead.

He had died on Coruscant, inside of Palpatine's office. Darth Vader was born minutes later.

Vader had gone to the temple, slaughtered the Jedi, and reported back to his master. Rather… temporary master. As soon as Sidious revealed the secret of power over death, their relationship would undergo a transformation. A quite fatal transformation.

He was confident he could kill Sidious. He was the Chosen One after all. But for now, the illusion of servitude must be kept. And for that, he must enter the mining operations base. To some, that might pose a problem. But not for him.

For he had the entrance codes.

* * *

Nute Gunray looked at the viewscreen, seeing the black hooded figure step out of his starfighter. _This must be the Darth Vader that Sidious was talking about,_ he thought.

Gunray hoped that Vader was better than Sidious or Dooku was. But… he didn't think so. From his experience with the sith, all of them were alike.

Treacherous and deceitful. However, Gunray and the rest of the council seemed to know their place.

All of them showed various signs of nervousness. Without turning his head, he could see San Hill adjusting his long dress robes, Rune Haako shifting his weight from foot to foot, and Poggle the Lesser flapping his wings about, chattering nervously. Behind him, Shu Mai was tightening the elaborate hairdo she wore, and Wat Tambor was adjusting the gas mix in his pressure suit. Somwhere off in a corner, perhaps in the conference room, Passel Argente was talking to his aide, Denaria Kee.

Vader entered the main door, heading through the hallways to the control center. All of the council members could feel the approaching darkness as the sith entered the room.

San Hill, perhaps remembering the reward promised, gathered his courage. "Lord Vader, on behalf of the CIS Council, allow me to be the first to-"

"Very well, you will be the first." Vader said, reaching up and removed the hood that concealed his face.

Beneath the hood was a familiar sight. Too familiar.

There was a collective gasp amongst the council. "You're- You're Anakin Skywalker!" Hill shouted, panicking. Vader- _No, Skywalker_, Gunray thought, -drew a sky blue lightsaber, ignited it, and curved it in a loop that sliced through all three of the Muun's hearts.

"The resemblance," he said, speaking perhaps to the chairman of the IBC that now lay dead at his feet, or maybe the rest of the council that was staring at him in shock and fear, "is deceptive."

* * *

Everyone moved at once. Many council members ran for the briefing room, hoping for safety there. Shu Mai bolted for the door, and began working furiously at the control panel.

Poggle the Lesser began running towards Shu Mai, but was killed almost instantly when a black gloved hand tore out one of the security consoles and smashed it into him, leaving nothing but some sickly looking goo pinned against the wall.

Shu Mai successfully opened the door. Giving a yell of triumph, she began running once again. It seemed, however, that her luck had run out, as the black cloaked Jedi landed in front of the terrified Gossam.

With a sizzle, a beam of plasma impaled her through the gut. Falling to the ground, she went into hysterics, and blubbered, "A-a-a _handsome_ reward! We w-were promised a _handsome _reward!"

And with a sarcastic grin, Skywalker answered, "I'm your reward. Don't you find me handsome?" With that, he swung his blue blade, and the Commerce Guild's President was relieved of office.

Gunray stood frozen, staring at Skywalker in shock. _How could a Jedi do this?_ He asked himself. Numbly, he ran over to the control panel, summoning the few remaining guards. A dozen B-1 battle droids entered through side doors, and recognizing their target, opened fire.

All of them were destroyed in seconds.

Skywalker continued his killing spree. Heads, limbs, and bodies of all descriptions littered the primary control complex. The remaining council members retreated into the conference room, hoping for relative safety there.

Gunray locked the door, trying to keep the Jedi menace out. It made no difference.

For a few seconds, it was quiet. It seemed like the door, made out of the strongest materials known to the galaxy, had successfully kept the murderer out! This thought brought hope to the minds of the few remaining CIS members.

But with a pained groan, the door caved in. Then it crumpled into a large, jagged, metal ball, and flew into the room. An unlucky Neimoidian aide who wasn't quick enough to get out of the way received the full force of the ball, and slammed into the transparisteel window on the other side of the room.

And through the hole where there was once a door, stepped the Jedi.

Argente, who happened to be standing closest to the sith lord, was quickly bisected. Tambor and Haako ran to the other side of the room. Gunray was already there, looking desperately for anything that might help him survive.

Unfortunately for them, Skywalker didn't seem intent on letting them live. Coming to Haako first, he stopped to listen to what the strangely calm Neimoidian had to say.

"We _surrender_, can't you hear us? A Jedi cannot kill the unarmed." And with another sarcastic comment, Skywalker answered, "You fought a war to destroy the Jedi. Congratulations on your success," before stabbing him through the chest.

Skywalker turned to Tambor, who was futilely trying to claw his way through the walls to escape. Looking fearfully at Skywalker, Tambor cried, "I'll give you anything! Anything you want!"

With two strokes, Skywalker's blue blade removed the Skakoan's arms and head. "Thank you," he said to the corpse.

Glancing around, Gunray realized that he was the final surviving member of the CIS council. Skywalker lept, landing directly in front of him. Completely losing it to a combination of fear, grief, and shock, he fell to his knees in front of Skywalker.

Grasping at the last option left to him, he groveled in front of Skywalker, begging for his life. "Lord Sidious… promised us peace! We only want to-" he was cut off, quite literally. Skywalker had slashed him across the chest.

Gasping for air, he tumbled over onto his side. _Sidious has betrayed me…_ Gunray thought, _Again…_

The last sight he saw was Skywalker's cold eyes. _That's odd. They're yellow. I wonder, what could that mean?_

Then Nute Gunray, Viceroy of the Trade Federation, last leader of the CIS, died.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N  
****Hello again! Apologies that this chapter is short. I've been kinda busy lately and haven't had much time to write. But don't worry, they'll be longer in the future.  
****Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Star Wars. This story is purely for the amusement of myself and others.**

"There you are, sir. Good as new!" A4-D spoke. Sitting up, Grievous flexed his metal fingers. "How long until I'm at peak efficiency?" he asked his medical droid.

He still wasn't completely ready for combat. His artificial lungs and electric heart were still adjusting to the rest of his body.

Newly arrived robotic parts from his castle on Vassek had been welded on to his body. His eyes were now as artificial as the rest of him. All that had survived his encounter with Kenobi was his brain, and even that had barely been saved.

Grievous once again felt the stirrings of rage at the thought of Kenobi. He had ruined him again! Even more than in the shuttle crash! And Grievous felt that he had to pay for what he had done.

_An eye for an eye, so to speak,_ Grievous thought. He would hunt Kenobi down. With the droid army still at his disposal, he knew he could. Kenobi could not evade his full efforts for long.

"You'll have to relax for a couple hours to get full motor control back, and then after a couple days, you will be as good as you were before Coruscant. You will simply have to be patient," the droid answered.

"Patient? How can I be patient when the Jedi who almost killed me is walking free? He could be anywhere by now."

He started to worry when A4-D didn't answer, standing silent for a few moments. "I see… you've been out of the loop," he said finally. "There have been several government changes since you've been here."

Giving the droid his deadly glare, he asked, "What kind of changes? What happened?"

Knowing all to well what commonly befell the many droids who received that glare, A4-D backed away slowly, and said, "I'll explain. After you were almost killed by Kenobi, several things happened. We've been monitoring the holonet feeds, and it appears that the the Republic is just gone. Replaced by an Empire of sorts. It's still lead by Palpatine, but he's… different. Much more militaristic and threatening. And the CIS is, well..."

"Out with it!" Grievous shouted, causing his medical droid to jump.

"The CIS has been officially disbanded," the startled droid said. "They simply don't exist anymore. There was no formal surrender, no arrangements. The blasters just stopped shooting, and there has been no mention of the Confederate Council. They vanished.

"It also appears the Jedi rebelled against the Republic Senate. Four masters attempted to assassinate Palpatine himself! The clone army is still searching for survivors."

Grievous slowly stood up, letting out a small hiss. "So what you are telling me," he said menacingly, "is that the Republic has been dissolved, the Jedi are dead, and I am standing on the _last _Confederate ship still _existing_!?"

A4-D took several steps back. "W-well in a manner of speaking- I mean, that is... accurate." The way the droid phrased the sentence, it sounded more like a question than a statement, as if asking for confirmation.

Grievous looked at the droid, debating whether or not to kill him. After several seconds of staring at the already fearful droid, Grievous decided against it. After all, he was the only medical droid competent to have lasted this long.

Turning around swiftly and walking to the other side of the room, he grabbed his cloak and lightsabers off of a small rack. "Then Palpatine has robbed me of my revenge. If Kenobi is dead, then I will have to find another target."

A4-D perked up at this statement. "Well, actually sir, Palpatine has released the casualty lists of the Jedi killed. Kenobi isn't on them! Which means that he is most likely still alive!"

Grievous turned once again, fastening the Kaleesh cloak around his metal neck. "Didn't one of my guards mention that my starfighter was missing?"

A4-D nodded, "Well, yes, sir, but I hardly see how that has anything to do with-"

"Fetch me the remote navigation files of my starfighter," Grievous said. "We're going Jedi hunting.


	4. Chapter 4

Pain. That was all Vader could feel. Terrible Pain.

His left arm severed, his legs burning in the lava, he was helpless. Obi-Wan… he had done this to him. His former Master was now staring at him, likely in shock for what he had done to his apprentice.

Vader let out another moan. Trying desperately to claw his way up with one remaining hand, the mechanical one, it seemed hopeless. The volcanic ash gave way under his hand's strength, and sent him rolling further down the beach.

"You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them!"

He gazed up at Obi-Wan. Was it he who had spoken? Vader couldn't tell. The roar of lava behind him was growing stronger. Much further down the hill, and he might roll into it…

No. That wasn't possible. He was Darth Vader. He was the Chosen One, invincible. And yet, Obi-Wan had managed to remove three of his limbs. Limbs that had rolled down the slope, and were now burning in the lava.

Vader lowered his gaze, still moaning. He was a failure, a Sith for half a day, and defeated in combat by his former master. _Sidious better start looking for a new apprentice,_ he thought, _because I doubt I'm going to be around much longer_.

"It was you who would bring balance to the force, not leave it in darkness!"

Looking up, Vader was sure that this time it was Obi-Wan. Rage clouding his vision, he snapped. "I hate you!" he shouted, trying once again to crawl up the bank, to destroy his former master.

With the same results as before, he slid back on the ash. "You were my brother Anakin! I loved you… but I could not save you." Kenobi continued. Vader kept trying, sliding further and further down the black beach.

Then, with one gust of wind, it was over. A small amount of lava slid up the bank, just enough to spark a fire.

And it did.

Starting with his severed legs, it spread up his body. Vader was completely engulfed. The pain was worse than anything he had ever imagined.

It burned for minutes, yet seemed like days. His clothing melted onto his skin, and his skin melted away. In agony, he gazed up at Obi-Wan.

He was staring at Vader in shock, appalled by what he had caused. Vader was losing his vocal cords, and his voice rough and jagged, he rasped, "Obi-Wan…"

Obi-Wan, hearing his voice, removed all expression from his face. Turning around, he slowly walked up the beach slope, picking up Vader's lightsaber as he went. Vader, watching him go, felt the fire extinguish itself. That was a stroke of luck for him, at last.

With a soft groan he lowered his head, succumbing to his wounds. Minutes passed. Falling unconscious, he could see two things, both of great significance.

One, a silver ship, Nubian, lifting up from the landing pad. That silver ship contained his love, the one reason he now had to try living. It lifted up, past the stars, heading off to the east. Escaping his sight, he turned to the other point of interest.

A Neimoidian shuttle, landing on another landing platform, protected by a squad of Vulture droids. Strange, since he had confirmed that the Confederate Council had all been destroyed. As the shuttle lifted off, he noticed something else.

A battle, up in space. He could barely make out the ring shape of a Lucrehulk battling with the Imperator he had arrived in.

His damaged body aside, he had a sudden, inexplicable, bad feeling about that shuttle.

* * *

"General, we have detected a Republic cruiser in orbit of Mustafar. _Imperator_-class," the Muun captain spoke.

Having just exited hyperspace, the _Independence_ was hovering on the edge of the system, observing the Republic ship in orbit of the planet.

_Though I suppose it's an Imperial ship now,_ Grievous mused.

Having tracked his starfighter to a remote region of space halfway to Mustafar, the trail had vanished. However, at that point, a new ship had been detected, a Correlian corvette, heading in the direction of the core worlds. At that point, there were... complications. During the weeks since Grievous's near death experience, the corvette had intersected with several dozen other ships, and Kenobi could be on any one of them.

Of course, if he was still alive.

There was no guarantee that Kenobi had survived, or stolen his starfighter. It could have been some runaway, trying to escape Utapau for some unexplained reason. But Grievous was willing to bet that Kenobi was the one who had taken the shuttle. He knew how hard the Jedi was to kill.

Grievous had then decided to investigate Mustafar, and see if CIS council was really dead, or if it was just Imperial propaganda. And now here they were. But to get to the surface to confirm the survival or death of the council, they had to get past the _Imperator_ in orbit.

Grievous to the captain's report, "Is the _Independence_ able to destroy it? We need to reach the surface."

The _Independence_, a Lucrehulk carrier, was a veteran of many campaigns. First produced on Geonosis a week after the war began, it had been to many of the major conflicts throughout the war.

From the Second Battle of Geonosis to Umbara and on to Coruscant, it had taken it's fair share of beatings. It had also dished them out.

Led by the Muun captain Den Rise, the vessel was rumored to have single-handedly defended one of the Geonosian moons from a squad of Venators.

And it was these feats that made the _Independance_ catch Grievous's eye.

After the _Invisible Hand_ was destroyed at the Battle of Coruscant, Grievous had taken the _Independence_ as his personal flagship. Having it heavily modified after his arrival on Utapau, it now had much larger hangers and far more turbolaser batteries.

"Unknown, sir." the thin captain replied, "If we can catch it with it's shields down, we stand a good chance."

"Very well. Disengage Hyperdrive," the general commanded. "Launch group 1 fighters. And prepare me a shuttle. I'm going down to the surface."

* * *

Explosions rocked the tiny shuttle and it's Vulture droid escort. DFS-9AD continued his role of protecting Friendly Unit 1. Friendly Base 1 was taking heavy fire from Enemy Unit 1.

According to the organics, Friendly Unit 1 was high priority, and was not to be destroyed. DFS-9AD and the rest of his squad continued escorting Friendly unit 1 down to the planet.

DFS-9AD's threat indicator alert was activated. Enemy Fighter Group 4 had peeled off from the rest of the battle and began firing on Friendly Unit 1.

Flipping around, he and his squad began firing on Enemy Fighter Group 4. Several of them vanished in flashes of light, but seconds later, just as many of DFS-9AD's squad were destroyed.

Sending out a quick request of assistance, DFS-9AD dove into the fray, firing his payload of missiles at Enemy Fighter Group 4. Several of them exploded from impact, while many more were subjected to Friendly Unit Group 34, or Buzz Droids to the organics.

The rest of his squad did the same, and soon, Enemy Fighter Group 4 was no longer a threat. However, Enemy Fighter Groups 3 and 5 were now approaching.

The odds of surviving this wave of enemies was 34%. Not good odds. Friendly Fighter Groups 9 and 13 had arrived, which increased the odds of survival to 92%.

Enemy Fighter Group 5 was quickly destroyed, and 3 limped back to Enemy Base 1. The path was now clear to their target.

If DFS-9AD wasn't a droid and had a face, he would have smiled. But of course, he couldn't.

Droids can't smile.

* * *

As soon as the shuttle touched down, Grievous began walking down the landing ramp. He didn't even wait for the ramp to fully touch the platform, he just made the small leap down the remaining foot of space.

Walking across the platform, he noticed something… out of place. There were no guard droids. The council was _always_ protected by droids. The cowardly scum hated to be left vulnerable. This didn't look good.

He glanced at his 6 Magnaguards walking down the ramp. "IG-one-oh-four, advance with your squad into the facility. Check for anything out of place," the General ordered his bodyguards. There was a quick word of acknowledgement, then they entered the door in front of him.

Following behind, he saw IG-116 raise a hand as a signal to stop. Grievous pushed through his guards, and bent over to analyze their discovery.

A basic B-1 Battle Droid, unextraordinary except for what had killed it. There was a long slash across its chest, running the length of its left hip to right shoulder.

A lightsaber.

There were only a few who wielded that weapon. The Jedi, the Sith, and Grievous himself. Grievous knew he hadn't killed that droid. Tyrannus was dead. That left the Jedi and Sidious. But the Jedi had vanished.

Perhaps a surviving Jedi had discovered the location of the bunker, and arrested the council? Unlikely. The codes were a well kept secret. Known only to the council, Grievous himself, and… Sidious.

_Perhaps…_ Grievous thought tentatively, _Sidious was the one who did this?_ No. He led the CIS, why would he want to capture their leadership? _Unless…_

Sidious had mentioned on Utapau a new apprentice. Perhaps he wasn't a member of the CIS? A double agent who had infiltrated their highest ranks? _No._ Grievous mentally shook himself. He was grasping now.

"Continue," he ordered his guards. Advancing through the hallways, they found several more droids like the first the found. All killed by a lightsaber. Eventually, they reached the door to the control room.

They entered. In one corner, there was an alarm going off. "You," Grievous grunted, pointing at IG-128, "Check on that."

Turning back to the rest of the room, Grievous was surprised by the sheer amount of bodies. Was that Poggle the Lesser, smashed against the wall? Further investigation revealed that it was, in fact, the Archduke of the Stalgasin Hive. _A fitting end._ The General thought. _Squished like the bug that he is._

All of the council members had met similar deaths. Shu Mai was laying by the entrance, impaled and decapitated. Passel Argente had been bisected by the entrance to the Briefing Room. Grievous didn't bother investigating further. He knew where the rest of the council was.

However, there was something else. The walls were littered with lightsaber gashes. Someone had been dueling here.

IG-128 walked up beside him. "Sir. It appears that the facilities shields are failing. Lava breaches are imminent, followed by complete destruction of the facility."

Grievous felt his eyes widen. He bolted for the door, his Magnaguards struggling to keep up. As he reached the exterior, he noticed a silver ship, a Nubian on a platform across the facility. He made a mental note of that.

Sprinting up the ramp of the shuttle, he ordered the OOM series pilot droid to begin takeoff procedures. He watched the Kleggor Corp Mining Facility plunge into the lava below. It appeared that luck had favored them, and somehow the shield generator had compensated enough to spare the landing platforms.

His Magnaguards rushed on board. Seconds later, the ship took off, heading back towards the _Independence_. Off to the west, however, Grievous could see two blue clashes of light on a slope. One of them winked out, and the other one lowered.

**A/N  
Yes, the author's note is at the bottom this time, just to mess with you guys. The two main POV's of this chapter do link up, with the last few paragraphs of each. I hope you enjoyed, and please review if you liked it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**  
**I hope you guys all had a nice weekend. I still only have one review for this story, so if you like it or have feedback, please let me know. The more reviews I ge, the faster I write. See ya.  
****Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Disney does. And I'm not Disney.**

Throughout the chaos of battle, fighters were exploding, bombers were unloading their payloads, cannons were firing, and a lone Neimoidian Shuttle was scurrying back to it's hanger, barely avoiding the Imperial ARC-170s that pursued it.

Sitting inside that lone shuttle was a rather pleased General Grievous. Having just discovered that the CIS council was dead, it was natural that he was pleased. The money-mongering scum could burn in that bunker. The bunker that had nearly bankrupted them had become their tomb.

Grievous was still quite amused at that one. Viceroy Gunray had come to him on Utapau complaining about money, stating that his money financed this war, and that he hoped the Kleggor Corp Mining facility was safe. Grievous had reassured him, then sent him scurrying along with the rest of the council.

Now, it appeared that someone had broken into that bunker, slaughtered them all, and disabled the shields so they would go over the lava falls that riddled the planet's surface. Hilarious. However, there were still mysteries about this whole case.

The appearance of a J-type Nubian, for example. Usually only used by senators. And why would a senator go to _Mustafar_ of all places? A vacation? Grievous didn't think so.

Another thing as well, who had killed the council in the first place? It couldn't have been the Jedi, they had absolutely no access to the codes, besides the fact that they were all supposed to be dead. It had to be Sidious. There was something about him that made him uneasy.

Wait. What if Sidious… wasn't Sidious? Could he be an imposter? He had already considered many options in the mining facility, but maybe he should research them. Glancing at the chrono, he saw that they still had 15 minutes before they arrived back at the _Independence_. _Plenty of time_, he thought.

He got up, walking over to a computer stashed in the corner of the shuttle. While many beings would have been instantly knocked down by the constant blaster fire and maneuvering, not Grievous. His magnetized feet kept him secured to the deck of the ship.

His hands whizzing over the holographic display, he inserted a small chip he drew fom his cloak. The chip had some of the highest ranking access codes for the Re-ublic data files, and it appeared the Imperials hadn't made many improvements. The screen changed. Typing his search, he found what he was looking for. He pulled up images of various powerful Imperial figures. He then found an image of Sidious on his private recordings.

Senators, aides, Red Guards, it didn't matter. All of them came up as negative; these people were not the same. Maybe Sidious was higher up? He began searching through the Emperor's aide's data file. When that came up as negative, he looked through the files of the Emperor himself.

The data in there would shock him for a long time.

Everything in that file matched. He even played a few voice recordings to be sure.

The times Sidious had contacted him or Dooku, Palpatine had been either in a "private meeting" or off planet! The logs, the image was the same, it was incredible!

"OOM-925, begin landing procedures," he could hear IG-104 ordering the pilot. It seemed the shuttle had fared worse than anticipated, Grievous noted as he walked down the landing ramp. Most of his Vulture droid escort was destroyed, and there were scorch marks littered throughout the hull.

The General had more pressing matters at the moment, however. For example, that this new Empire was ruled by the same man who led both the Republic and CIS, and that he was now the sole surviving leader of the Confederacy.

Of course, he had an advantage on Sidious. He had never contacted Sidious about Grievous's survival. However, there was now another kill on Grievous's agenda, other than Kenobi's. Sidious was a lying, treacherous, piece of slime, and he would get what was coming to him.

_And then, his apprentice,_ Grievous thought. He might as well finish the other "Sith Lord" while he was at it. But for now, Kenobi was the more desirable target.

On the way to the bridge, Grievous said, "IG-One-one-six, find the first ship my starfighter met with. I want to know the model, who owns it, and where it was heading."

* * *

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. So repetitive. So _alien_. And yet, that's all Vader can hear. The harsh sound just continues, on and on, never ending. He doesn't even know what it is.

And the pain. It's not as great as before, but the pain still lingers. He tries to lift his arm a few centimeters, but it feels heavier than before. He tries to lift it more, but restraints block his movement.

A voice breaks through the noise. It seems familiar somehow, yet different. _"Lord Vader, Lord Vader, can you hear me?"_

He can't, at least not as he once could. The sound is artificial, trickled directly into his brain by audio sensors. "Yes," he tries to say. Again, the sound is artificial. The voice it speaks through is completely unrecognizable, deep and cold.

A thought jumps into Vader's head. "Where is Padme? Is she safe? Is she alright?"

The voice hesitates. For several seconds there is no sound except for medical droids buzzing, and the inhale and exhale of what Vader can only assume is him breathing. _"It seems, in your anger, you killed her."_ This statement instantly sends him into a panic.

"No! That's impossible! She was alive, I felt it!" Vader suddenly realizes who the voice belongs to. His panic transforms into anger, his anger into rage. Within seconds, the room is vibrating and nearby medical droids are imploding.

Breaking free of the restraints that pin him to the table, he tries to reach out, to crush the man who stands before him.

But his power is but a fraction of what it once was, and now, he can't touch him. Because when he could have gone away with Padme, when he could have avoided all of this, when he should have been thinking of _her_, all he could think about was himself.

And now, the Jedi are gone, and he can't touch the man in front of him. This will always be his greatest mistake.

Because now, he is imprisoned.

Because now, the Sith are all he has left.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N  
****Thank you guys so much for almost 900 views to this story. I never thought it would be anywhere near this popular. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or baking recipes you'd like to share, leave them in the lovely little review section down there. Thank you guys again!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Wouldn't that be great, though?**

With a soft hiss, the doors to Grievous's quarters slid open. IG-104 stepped forward through the threshold, and regarded the metal cyborg sitting in front of the holo-projector before him. "Speak," Grievous gruffly commanded, and the Magnaguard complied.

"General, we have located the corvette that rendezvoused with your starfighter. It was definitely headed to the core, most likely Coruscant. Shall we follow them?"

Grievous growled. _The blasted stupidity on these things! Even the elites make these incredibly idiodic mistakes... _

"Do you really think that we can just drop out of hyperspace, go into the _capital_ of the empire that destroyed _both_ the CIS and Republic in a warship of the CIS, and come out with our information unharmed?" Grievous had now gotten up and was looming over his bodyguard, as if daring it to contradict him.

The droid simply stared, having no fear nor self-preservation programmed into it. It did, however, have enough common sense to simply not answer, knowing full well that it would likely be one of the last things that he did. And it couldn't be a very good bodyguard if it was lying in pieces on the floor.

Grievous let out a huff and turned around. "What are the least defended Imperial outposts within this sector?" he said over his shoulder.

IG-104 considered it's memory databases carefully before responding. "Atrivis VII should only have an _Acclamator __II_-class defending it," the guard said, "And the closest reinforcements are several hours away. It shouldn't be too difficult to take the planet."_  
_

A barely audible hiss came out of Grievous's mask as the droid said the last sentence. "I don't intend to take the planet," he said slowly, dangerously, "Now shut up before I decide to remove something!"

The droid answered in it's usual monotone, still experiencing no fear. "Yes, General. I will give the order to jump."

The doors slid closed again, leaving Grievous alone in the room. _You can't get replacements anymore_, he kept telling himself, trembling in rage and frustration. _You can't get replacements anymore_.

* * *

Several hours later, Grievous was on the bridge, staring out at the stars flashing past the window in the form of long, white lines. Behind him, the bridge crew of the _Independence_ was preparing for the coming battle, even if it would likely be easy. An _Acclamator II_ may be a warship, but it was one of the weakest of it's kind. Had it been one of the new _Imperial_-class Star Destroyers, Grievous would have been much more reluctant to attack.

"General, sir!" one of the Neimoidian pilots called. Two long strides brought Grievous to his shoulder.

"Yes, lieutenant?" the cyborg said, with a murderous voice. It appeared that his annoyance with IG-104 hadn't worn off, and the fact that he was talking to a Neimoidian didn't help.

The pilot shrank back into his seat, terrified. Perhaps he should have waited for one of the other junior officers to notify this terrible creature of the situation? Either way, it was too late now.

"S-sir, we are entering the-the Atrivis system, sir. Sh-should we drop out of hyperspace?"

Grievous glared daggers at him. "Yes, you incompetent fool, bring us out!"

The Neimoidian jumped in his seat, and nearly fell out of it. Gasping for air, he propped himself back up, and typed several commands into his console with shaking hands. In the window, Grievous could see the white lines retract back into points, and the Atrivis star appear in a large yellow ball several hundred thousand kilometers away.

In orbit of the star, 9 planets were visible. The first 5 were little more than volcanic wastelands, too close to the star to even form atmospheres. The outer 2 were gas giants, massive blue gas balls. However, the seventh planet was just close enough to the Atrivis star to form oceans, but far enough away that they didn't freeze over.

The planet had been settled by human colonists, who had made use of the planets many natural ores to ship off-world. But Grievous wasn't interested in the ores.

In orbit of the planet was an _Acclamator II_-class frigate. That was Grievous's target. They couldn't very well go to Coruscant in a CIS battleship; they had to do it in an Imperial one.

Grievous strode back to the very front of the bridge, leaving the terrified Neimoidian pilot behind at his station. "Status of the enemy ship?" he asked.

The droid currently stationed at sensors piped up. "The enemy ship is scrambling fighters and raising shields. They didn't see us coming."

Grievous nodded. "Comms, ensure that they can't get any signals out. I don't want an Imperial fleet jumping in behind us."

The Neimoidian stationed at communications gave a nod, and began pressing multiple buttons and turned several dials with his green fingers. The Neimoidian's calm expression to one of surprise. "Sir, the enemy vessel- it's hailing us!"

If Grievous still had eyebrows, he would have raised them. "Very well, answer their hail. In the meantime, transfer all available power to forward shields and weapons."

The comms officer tapped a few more buttons, and the holo-projector in the center of the room hummed to life. A young human male of average height appeared, the transmission distorting for a few seconds before clearing up.

"_Enemy ship, please stand down! I am Captain-_" The young human must have fought in the Clone Wars at some point, because his eyes widened in shock and fear as soon as he recognized who he was speaking to. "_What the... You're Gen-General Grievous! You're dead!_"

Grievous straightened out his ankle joints, adding half a meter to his already imposing height. "Well then, it appears you are talking to a ghost. I assure you that the ship I am standing on is very much real. Would you like some proof-?" Grievous raised a clawed hand, and the forward batteries on the _Independence_ rippled with a round of turbolaser fire.

The Imperial captain staggered as the bolts impacted, and grabbed onto something outside of the camera's range. "Now," Grievous said menacingly, "You will surrender your ship to me, and your crew will be taken prisoners of war aboard my ship. You have 30 seconds, captain."

The young man spluttered, searching for words. "I- you can't do this, no, no, no, you can't! This is my ship!"

"For now," the cyborg answered, "It will be mine either way. It's up to you whether you experience large amounts of pain during the transaction. 20 seconds."

The captain stared at Grievous incredulously. For a multitude of seconds, neither of them said a word. Finally, the right around the 10 second mark, the Imperial spat, "Go to hell, monster."

Grievous simply laughed. "I have already been to all nine Corellian hells and back, I doubt you could do any worse. Forward batteries, open fire."

* * *

The _Acclamator_ didn't stand a chance. After just 10 minutes of fighting the Imperials were struggling to keep their shields up against the onslaught of turbolaser fire.

The _Independence_ had suffered little more than an overheated turbolaser and the destruction of a few _Vulture_-class starfighters.

A group of CIS gunships, was charging straight for the _Acclamator_'s hangar. A few were lost to various blaster bolts and torpedos, but the majority made it through the screen of blaster fire. As the gunships landed, a dozen B2s dropped off of each. They readied their wrist blasters into firing position, and began the trek to the turbolift at the end of the hangar.

Imperial Stormtroopers began pouring out of the side doors and access points, setting up behind cover and firing on the advancing droids. If one of those Stormtroopers had been paying attention, they might have noticed the _Droch_-class boarding ship flying overhead. If they had, Grievous's plan might have failed.

But they didn't, and so the boarding craft continued on, heading straight over the hangar and smashing through the hull plating just below the bridge. And out of the hole that the boarding craft opened came eight BX-series commando droids. Two unfortunate Stormtroopers who witnessed the event were too slow to aim their rifles, and received two quick blaster bolts to the chest each.

Advancing through the few hallways that separated them from the bridge, it was apparent that the Imperials knew they were coming. But the B2s down in the hangar were doing their job, and keeping the majority of the Stormtroopers occupied.

Every so often the commandos would come across a patrol. A few quick shots from each BX-series eliminated the threat. Making quick progress, they reached the bridge within a few minutes of their initial landing.

A charge on the door took care of any resistance that may have once existed in the general vicinity. Upon entering the bridge, there were only a few Stormtroopers huddled in a corner, with a human officer standing over them. "In the name of the Galactic Empire," he said, "Stand dow-" He, along with the rest of his troops, received a few quick bolts to the face, ending the resistance on the bridge.

The droids all took up the different required stations. The BX-series at comms tapped a message to Grievous, informing him of their success.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N  
Hello guys. First of all, I would like to apologize for not being able to release this chapter yesterday, and for it being a tad short. But I was very busy, and couldn't write at all. You forgive me, right? And second, I would like to thank you for well over _1200_ views. That's right, you blew away the 1000 mark. As of this posting, I have 1241 views. That's just... wow. I'm shocked. Thank you guys so much. Now, without any further delay, Chapter 7 is waiting for you!**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Wars. I sent Disney a letter, but...**

"Status," Grievous commanded, striding through the doors to the freshly captured Imperial bridge. The commando droids stood at attention as the General and a pair of his bodyguards entered the room.

One of them stepped forward, the white paint on his face-plate marking him as a captain. "Sir," he said, "Resistance on the upper half of the vessel has ceased. There are small pockets of resistance in the lower decks, but we are eliminating them presently."

Grievous nodded. Just then, a CIS _Vulture_-class starfighter flew past the transparisteel window. Coming about, it fired a pair of torpedoes at the bridge. It was now that the bridge point-defense systems came online. With laser precision, the blue laser detonated the torpedoes that would have otherwise have destroyed everything within a few dozen meters.

Grievous could feel the explosion from where he stood. As the colorful fireball expanded rapidly in space, the shock-wave rippled past, and a few of the BX-series fell down, scrabbling for holds and a way to get back up. The point-defense fired again, and the _Vulture_-class lost most of it's left wing to the beam. Spiraling away, it crashed into the ship several decks below.

Grievous growled, and turned to the BX-series captain. "Is there any particular reason you haven't informed our ships and this vessel's computer that _we_ now control it?"

The commando regarded Grievous calmly. The BX-series, while more advanced than the B1s and B2s, didn't have the advanced programming of the IG-100s. And so, it didn't have the sense IG-104 had when he misspoke. This would be his ultimate undoing. "I refrained from informing them," he said, "Because we do not yet control the ship."

Grievous roared in frustration and rage, and picked up the BX-series by the neck. Then, with one little squeeze, he crushed the vulnerable droid's neck. The commando jerked once, and hung limp in the air, his now useless limbs swaying slightly with Grievous's minute twitches. Grievous tossed the droid aside, and turned to one of the BX-series lieutenants.

"You, you are now squad leader. You are aware of your assignment, correct?" The newly promoted captain nodded. "Good. Now cease fire. And get a crew up here to clean up this mess," Grievous said, gesturing at the droid's former superior. The Captain turned and began issuing orders to his squad.

The constant stream of turbolaser fire from the _Independence_ ceased abruptly, as did that from the captured Imperial warship. The blue and red color stopped. The _Vulture_ and _Hyena_-class that were beginning to gather around the _Acclamator_ dispersed and headed back to the point in between the two capital ships to engage the Imperial starfighters, who were still alive and attempting a last ditch assault on the CIS vessel.

Half an hour later, that counter-attack had failed, and the last ARC-170 exploded, sending it's pilots tumbling out into the vacuum of space, their screams forever silent. Half an hour after that, the last resisting Stormtrooper on the captured _Acclamator II_ fell to a squad of B1s. The _Independence_ transferred over supplies and battle droids, and then the captured vessel entered the white-lined corridor of Hyperspace, leaving behind all of the carnage it had wrought, and heading off to make some more.

* * *

"_I.S.D. Invulnerable, please submit your ID and pass codes_," spoke the voice of an Imperial officer over the comm. Gazing out of the bridge windows, Grievous could see the _Imperator_-class ship they were conversing with, and behind it, the massive blue and yellow city planet of Coruscant.

This was a terrible risk, heading to the capital of the empire that had completely reshaped the political map of the galaxy. Without moving his mechanical head, Grievous could see at least a dozen _Imperator_-classes outside the transparisteel window, with almost uncountable amounts of other Imperial vessels shadowing them. This was a risk, but a calculated one. If they could get the information they needed on Kenobi, they would be one step closer to finding him.

The droid at comms tapped a few buttons with it's durasteel fingers, and submitted the recently forged documents. There was silence for several seconds as the officer at the other end examined them. _If he notices it's a fake..._ Grievous thought, _We won't have much time to leave..._

Almost a minute passed. Grievous was just about to order the pilot to withdraw when the officer's voice crackled over the comm system again. "_I.S.D. Invulnerable, you are cleared for passage. Proceed._"

If Grievous's artificial lungs allowed him to sigh, he would have. "Advance," he ordered the droid in the pilot seat, and the captured Imperial ship began it's movement around the capital planet, leaving behind it a light stardrive trail, and most of the Imperial warships guarding the planet.

They weren't done yet, though. To get Kenobi's information, they had to locate where that Corellian Corvette had been. And to do that, they had to find where it had entered the system.

And so, almost an hour later, they found it. Just south of Centax-3, the ion trail they were looking for matched with the one they discovered. It had, in fact, headed to Coruscant. And so, the General ordered the _Independence_ forward, following the trail to the capital planet.

* * *

_"Greetings, my lord. And how is Your Excellency's day, may I ask?"_

_"Good enough, commander. What matter is it that you wish for me to see?"_

_"Commander Dence, sir. Imperial Security Bureau. And it is a matter of great import."_

_"I don't care about your name. And this matter had better be important, otherwise you'll find your career ending very prematurely."_

_"Of-of course, sir. I would never _dream_ of disturbing His Excellency without good cause."_

_"No, you wouldn't. Now, I am a very busy man, so I'd suggest talking faster. I have a meeting in ten minutes that I need to get to."_

_"Yes, sir. You see, We've been monitoring a series of strange events recently. Do you recall the planet Mustafar, my lord?"_

_"Of course I do! Now what about it!?"_

_"Well, well if Y-Your Excellency has... bad memories of the place, then perhaps I should move on to-"_

_"No! You will say what you have to say, and then leave."_

_"Of course, sir. You see, on Mustafar, there was a battle. A warship jumped out of Hyperspace and engaged with one of our _Imperators_."_

_"What's so important about that? Pirates attack ships all the time."_

_"You see, that's where it gets strange. It wasn't a standard space pirate ship. It was a fully functioning CIS battle-cruiser. _Lucrehulk_-class, to be precise."_

_"That's not possible. The CIS was destroyed nearly a month ago."_

_"Apparently not. The cruiser held it's own against our vessel for almost fifteen minutes, then jumped away for an unknown reason."_

_"Well, that can't be all you wanted to talk to me about, commander. What else is there?"_

_"Just yesterday, our patrol ship in the Atrivis system went missing. Before their comm unit cut out, they said a _Lucrehulk_ battleship had jumped into the system, and was preparing to fire."_

_"Same one as on Mustafar?"_

_"Same one. And just an hour ago, the _Invulnerable_ entered orbit of Coruscant. The _Invulnerable_ is supposed to be patrolling the Geonosis system."_

_"So you believe that this is the ship from the Atrivis system."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Then if you are correct, than these Confederates are on Coruscant now."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Thank you for informing me of this, Commander. You will find that you have a new rank to look forward to soon. In the meantime, I will look into this matter. Farewell."_

_"Goodbye, sir."_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N  
Hello again guys. I hope you enjoy chapter eight, and if you do, or you notice any mistakes, let me know, and I can go fix them. Once again, thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: Disney still hasn't responded to my letter. I'm guessing it got held up in the post office.**

Without a sound, the _Lambda_-class landing shuttle descended upon the Coruscanti landing platform. Behind it and the landing platform, the mushroom shaped senate building could be seen. And behind that, one could just see the smoke still rising from the Jedi temple.

A slight hiss of escaping gas could be heard as the landing ramp slowly lowered, coming to a rest on the durasteel floor. A squad of four Stormtroopers walked down the ramp, armored feet clanking as they made contact with the metal surface.

At the other side of the platform, another pair of Stormtroopers stood at the entrance to the turbolift into the building. Glancing uncertainly at each other, they stepped forward to meet the quadruple of advancing troopers. One of them raised a hand, stopping the men who had walked down the ramp. "ID and clearance, please."

One of the Stormtroopers reached behind his back, gloved hand grasping for something.

Instead of taking out the ID and clearance codes that the trooper expected, he pulled out a small vibro-knife. Before the trooper could react, the knife plunged into his chest, straight through his plastoid armor. The other trooper raised his weapon, trying to fire at his sudden assailants.

Far too quickly for any organic being to accomplish, one of the four attacking troopers dashed forward. Before the trooper could fire, he received a punch to the face, and a kick to the gut. Then, before he knew what was happening, he was being raised in the air. Struggling against the durasteel grip that held him in place, he kicked and screamed, trying anything to break free.

Then, with one mighty heave, the Stormtrooper went tumbling off of the landing platform, vanishing from sight someways down the massive drop. In a few minutes, he would reach a _very_ messy end. The Stormtrooper who had thrown him turned around, and spoke to the one with the vibro-knife. "All resistance on the platform cleared, sir."

The troopers began walking towards the turbolift at the end of the platform. Entering it, one of the troopers pressed a series of buttons, and the lift began a slow descent.

Several minutes later, the turbolift came to a halt. As soon as the doors slid open, the four troopers stepped out into the room. The dozen or so Imperial personnel there looked up in surprise. "Hello, troopers," one of the officers said, with an extremely thick Coruscanti accent, "Did command send you? Well, you can tell them that we have that faulty plasma circuit under control."

One of the recently entered troopers nodded. Turning around, they got back into the turbolift. The officer noted that they were moving rather stiffly. What the Imperials didn't notice, however, was that one of the Stormtroopers had dropped a small disc on the floor. That disc started blinking a soft, red, light, indicating it was active. They also didn't notice that as the turbolift closed, not one of the troopers pushed any of the buttons.

Then, the disc let out a faint hiss. A few of the more observant Imperials in the room turned towards it, wondering what was happening. A light green smoke slowly filled the space. One of the troopers suddenly noticed what was happening. "Gas!" He shouted, "Helmet filters on!"

There was a series of clicking as the troopers turned on their air filters, rendering them immune to the gas's poisonous effects. The officers in the room looked on in horror, quickly realizing that their gray caps wouldn't protect them from the gas. Withing seconds, they were all lying on the ground, gasping and clutching at their throats.

By now, the gas had filled the room, making impossible to see through the green haze. The half-a-dozen Stormtroopers still standing were terrified out of their minds by whatever had attacked them. As the turbolift doors slid open, all of them jumped, and pointed their blasters in the general direction of the sound.

The four troopers who had previously left the room came out of the doors. One of the Stormtroopers, a Sergeant, squinted at them as they entered. "You there, stop!" He said, "Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your heads!"

The armored figures responded with several rounds of blaster bolts. About 5 seconds later, all that remained of the Sergeant and his men was a few charred corpses, each with several rounds of blaster fire evidenced on their armor. The four troopers dispersed, each heading for a different console. As the last of the poison gas dispersed, one of the troopers removed his helmet.

"This is BX-314 reporting in," the commando droid said, "We have the information requested."

"Good," came the rasping reply, "Return to your shuttle and prepare to dock. Well done, droid."

* * *

"Sir," said the droid at tactical, "The shuttle is docking. We will transfer the target information to the bridge when the procedures are complete." Grievous nodded, showing no outward sign of the excitement he felt inside. Well, it wasn't really excitement. He couldn't have emotions. It was just a shadow of an emotion, something his extremely damaged brain did to keep him sane. But it was close enough.

This would be it! He would get the information he needed, which would lead him to Kenobi! Then, he could finally destroy the Jedi for what he'd done.

A few minutes later, the console beside Grievous's chair lit up, displaying the information his commandos had stolen. Turning to it, Grievous's mechanical eyes scrolled through the giant data file in seconds.

There were massive amounts of information in there; docking reports, crew transfers, Imperial clearance codes, (Grievous stored those away, they could be useful later) all of it possibly leading to Kenobi's location.

None of it seemed relevant, except for one little tidbit of information. It appeared that a Stormtrooper guarding the senate building had noticed a pair of Jedi accompanied a Senator into the senate building. Several hours later, the Jedi recall code had been changed to a "run and hide" message. Grievous was willing to bet that one of those two Jedi was Kenobi.

"Prepare another commando team," Grievous instructed no one in particular, "Instruct them to be ready for departure in 15 minutes." The comms officer called the hangar and instructed a shuttle to be prepared. The droid at tactical ordered another commando squad be fitted with leftover Stormtrooper armor. And 15 minutes later, the squad boarded the vessel, preparing for another journey down to the planet below.

* * *

"Execute!" came Commander Appo's deafening order. With that word, the squad explosives expert pressed the detonator. The back entrance to the file relay facility blasted open. Through the hole in the wall rushed a total of eighteen Stormtroopers, spreading out in the open room.

Following after the 501st squads marched the tall, black-armored figure of Darth Vader. If his appearance wasn't threatening enough, the cold, mechanical breathing unnerved just about anyone unfortunate enough to hear it.

Standing in the impromptu entrance to the facility, Vader was mildly shocked at the number of bodies littering the floor. Half-a-dozen Stormtroopers lay dead, holed in various places with blaster bolts. Just as many Imperial officers were laying on the floor as well, clutching and clawing at their throats.

A trooper with a sensors backpack stood up from beside the body he was crouching by. "Dioxis gas, sir. They didn't stand a chance," he said sadly.

Appo nodded. "Is there any chance of contamination? I don't want one of us being poisoned."

One of the squad medics spoke up. "Oh, no, not with helmets on, sir. And besides, it's long gone." Vader waved over the sensors trooper, gesturing for him to check the shot Stormtroopers.

Vade stood idly by as his troopers carried on the investigation. It was quite boring, really. He couldn't exactly do anything to speed it up; the group he was with were all clones. If a clone wasn't operating at peak efficiency at any time, they would simply be sent back to whatever facility they came from, and then a new one would be transferred over to take their place.

A few more boring minutes past, and nothing of note happened. Then, the sensors trooper waved his superiors over. "Sirs," he said, "I've confirmed that these blaster marks came from an E-5 blaster rifle. Odd, because those were used almost exclusively by the battle droids of the CIS."

Appo's helmeted head turned towards Vader. "That would explain why we haven't found any other life signs in the area," he muttered. Vader slowly nodded, agreeing with his second-in-command's statement. "Sirs, could you come over here?" another trooper at one of the data consoles called.

Vader and Appo strode over, and looked over the trooper's shoulder. 'Sirs," he said, "It appears that all of the data file from the past week have been copied. Onto some sort of portable storage, if I'm correct."

Vader considered this. Who had broken into a minor Imperial facility, killed the garrison, and left? And for what? A few docking reports, it looked like. It didn't make sense. Unless...

What if they were looking for something? Perhaps a person or valuable item. There was no way to know for sure. Only the one who had done this could answer these questions.

"Squad 1, remain here and keep looking through the scene. Keep me appraised of any changes. Squad 2, with me." And the 9 Stormtroopers of squad 2 followed Vader out of the building, searching for any clues as to where those had done this had gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N  
Hello again guys. I hope you don't hate me for the cliff-hangar at the end of this chapter, so just don't kill me please, alright? And no, it wouldn't be Star Wars without a 1138 reference. Please review if you enjoyed.**

**Disclaimer: My letter to Disney has most definitely been lost. Does anyone have a phone number?**

TK-138 stood at the gates of the Jedi Temple, fulfilling the night shift with the rest of his squad. Squinting through his helmet, he could just make out an Imperial landing shuttle coming in his general direction.

Advancing across Coruscant's cityscape, TK-138 thought that it would simply pass overhead, going to one of the various Imperial facilities in the area. But instead, it circled the landing platform a dozen meters from where TK-138 was standing, and began to slowly float down onto the surface.

"This is TK-138," he said into his helmet microphone, "Reporting an unidentified shuttle attempting to land on the forward platform. Requesting backup." The sergeant on duty gave a word of acknowledgement, then ordered a squad to meet him at the front entrance.

The ship had now touched down, and the landing ramp was lowering to allow the unknown passengers to disembark. The sergeant stepped up beside him, also looking at the landing craft. "Why is there a bloody Lambda-class here at this hour? It's not past 0200!" He gestured for the assembled squad to follow him, and began walking down the damaged stairs.

A total of 6 Stormtroopers walked stiffly down to the platform, followed by a massive cloaked figure. What is that? TK-138 thought.

The sergeant stepped forward from the rest of the squad and held up a hand for the advancing figures to stop. "Hold it there. This is a restricted area. You better have some high-level clearance to be here, soldiers."

The two lead Stormtroopers glanced at each other, then back to the strange hooded figure. "Well, uh, sir..." the forward-most one said in a strange, mechanical, voice, "We have... a prisoner to, uh, bring in here."

Even with the helmet he wore, TK-138 could tell the sergeant was very skeptical. With a tilted head, he said, "At the Jedi Temple, an off-limits sector restricted to authorized personnel only?"

"Uh, yes, sir," The trooper spoke.

The sergeant nodded slowly, then drew his blaster from the holster behind his back. "Right, buddy, you're under arrest. Let's go."

The hooded figure let out a brief sigh. Then, reaching into the dark recesses of the cloak he wore, drew out a short, cylindrical object. And before any of the Stormtroopers could react, he thumbed a button on it. A shimmering green blade emanated from it, the smell of ozone filling the air as soon as it extended.

Then, before anyone could do anything, the figure swung his blade. The result of that swing was one headless sergeant. The head hit the floor, followed by the rest of his body. The remaining soldiers looked on in shock and horror, some looking down at the headless corpse of what had once been their commanding officer, others at the still hooded figure that had killed him.

The six Stormtroopers that had been escorting the killer now opened fire on the terrified squad, downing quite a few with the first volley. The blade swung again, green plasma removing limbs from several troopers.

TK-138 took several steps back. Terrified and panicking, one of his last rational thoughts was to use his comm. "This is TK-138 to any Imperials in the Temple District, we need assistance! We have 6 assailants in Stormtrooper armor and one cloaked with a lightsaber. Send help-"

And then the cloaked being lashed out with his deadly blade, and TK-138 felt a burning pain across his chest. Falling to his knees, his vision slowly went dark. His head hit the floor, and the last light in his world finally faded away.

* * *

"This is TK-138 to any Imperials in the Temple District, we need assistance! We have 6 assailants in Stormtrooper armor and one cloaked with a lightsaber. Send help-"

Vader stood, arms folded, on the shuttle headed towards the Jedi Temple. The noise from the recording faded into static as the trooper was killed, cut down by something that sounded suspiciously like a lightsaber.

"How long ago was this message sent?" Vader asked. The Stormtrooper monitoring the comms channel tapped a few buttons, probably pulling up the transmission files. "Just over 10 minutes, sir."

Vader waved his hand, and the message terminated. This meant that just 10 minutes ago these people had broken into the temple. If they hurried, it was possible he could still catch them.

Vader almost shuddered at the thought of going back to the temple. That place had many... bad memories for him, to say the least.

He must go there, kill the Jedi, prove his loyalty to his new master...

The knight stands before him, accepting his fate...

The murderous blaster fire of Commander Appo's Stormtroopers echos through the corpse-ridden halls...

Jedi younglings step back as he ignites his lightsaber, revealing his treachery...

Dueling with Master Shaak Ti, disarming and cutting her down...

No! He mustn't think of that. He had to avoid going places where his terrible memories might destroy himself and everything around him. Places like Tatooine, Mustafar, and certain locations on Coruscant would have to be avoided. The Jedi Temple was one of these locations. If he had a choice, he would have simply turned around the shuttle and headed somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But his master had said this matter required his special attention. And so he had to go. Questioning the orders of the sith lord would be suicide. Sidious would probably just kill him outright.

Vader was extremely weakened from his experience on Mustafar. Every day he had to enter a pressurized chamber, and neurotic flesh would be scrubbed from his body. Every day, routine maintenance had to be done on his robotic limbs and life-support systems. And because of this, every day he was left vulnerable.

One flick of a switch, one cut in the wrong place, the slightest shock, all could spell a very slow and painful death. Sidious, naturally, had the means to do all of these. And if he desired, Vader's existence could easily be cut short.

That didn't matter now. He must go, complete the mission, and get out of the destroyed temple as fast as possible. If not, he risked damaging the surrounding area even more than it already was.

The temple was coming into view, the spired structure coming over the horizon. Slowly it approached, the place where so much carnage had been wrought by Vader's hand.

Commander Appo approached from the rear of the shuttle. "Sir?" He asked, clearly wondering what his superior was so engrossed with. Vader snapped out of his thoughts.

"Report, Commander," he spoke. Appo immediately stood at attention, arms straight at his sides and head slightly tilted up. "Sir, we are approaching the Jedi Temple north entrance, where the intruders were first spotted." The trooper said quickly, "There have been continued reports that they are advancing through the temple, apparently headed to the archives."

Vader regarded the clone. "Are you positive this information is accurate?"

Appo nodded, "Yes, sir. The troopers were quite positive."

With a small sigh, Vader gestured to the pilots to set them down. "It had better be accurate, otherwise we'll miss them. Set us down at the platform closest to the archives."

The sun was beginning to set, the bright yellow orb becoming a half-circle cut at the horizon. The shuttle slowly descending onto one of the temple's landing pads.

The shuttle's ramp descended, and Commander Appo's squad of Stormtroopers rushed down, fanning out and creating a perimiter in the potentially hostile territory.

Vader's menacing cloaked figure marched down after them, his anger at beng back in this place barely controlled.

Scanning the area and finding no life signs other than their own, the squad sensors expert gave the all clear. The group advanced, marching in formation across the 20 meter bridge from the platform to the temple itself.

Vader gazed up at the massive entrance with barely controllable rage. On either side the doors were flanked by 10 meter high statues, memorials to Jedi long past. The right one had crumbled, probably destroyed during the 501st's assault on the temple.

The left one still stood, however, and Vader hated what he saw. It was a hooded, bearded, man, human or near-human, holding a lightsaber aloft. It pointed it almost accusingly upward at the stars that were just beginning to emerge, as if suggesting they had done some unspeakable crime. To Vader, it looked unnervingly like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Of course, that wasn't possible. He knew they hadn't built a memorial to his former master. They hadn't built one for masters Ki-Adi Mundi, Mace Windu, or even Yoda, so why would they build one for Kenobi? They hadn't had time to do it if they did. So it was impossible that it was Kenobi.

With Vader still struggling to control his emotions, the squad entered the temple doors, if they could be called that. They were little more than piles of oddly shaped rubble.

Inside, it didn't look much better. In all of the halls they passed, there were scorch marks along the wall, in places where clones had missed their marks from the original attack. However, some were much fresher. Some within a few minutes ago.

It wasn't that hard to follow where the intruders were headed, even if they knew where they were headed. Scorch marks and dead Stormtroopers littered the path they had taken.

Vader paused. If they could get ahead of them, then maybe an ambush could be set…

"Commander Appo," Vader said, "What is the quickest route to the archives from here?" Appo stopped as well, along with the rest of the squad, and accessed a terminal on the wall.

It appeared that luck had favoured them, and the quickest route was through a side hall a few meters away. Appo downloaded the information, and led the way.

"Comms, order all remaining Stormtroopers to converge on the archives section." The comms trooper did an excellent job of sending the message out on the move, having to carry the equipment whilst sending it.

Rounding the final corner, they found that the shortcut they had taken was successful. There was no evidence of struggle. "Set up a perimeter and wait for their arrival," Vader ordered.

Stormtroopers slowly trickled in from side doors and access points, joining the original squad in the preparations. After 5 minutes, the number totaled 24.

Just then, blaster fire could be heard, along with the cries of pain from the pair of Stormtroopers standing guard outside the entrance. "Steady!" Commando Appo ordered from the defense line, stopping several eager troopers from rushing outside.

The Stormtroopers held, blasters pointed at the door, taking cover behind consoles and half-destroyed holocron shelves. An ominous clanking and creaking sound began coming from beyond the door. To Vader, it sounded oddly like footsteps. At least, slow, metal-on-metal footsteps.

The footsteps gradually grew louder, and louder, until they were almost deafening. Then, the sound stopped. The Stormtroopers tensed, more than they already had. Everyone in the room waited.

For several seconds, there was no noise, and no movement. Vader stood calmly behind the perimeter, arms folded across his chest. Appo raised a hand, readying the Stormtroopers to fire.

A green blade burst through the door, and curved upward to cut through the rest of the door. "Steady," Appo said again, hand still in the air.

The lightsaber blade completed it's loop, leaving an orange glow in the circle it had cut. There was another pause, and once again, and the only sound was Vader's breathing.

And with a loud clang of metal-on-metal, the door flung open, catching an unfortunate Stormtrooper in the head, knocking him out. And in through that gap, half-a-dozen Stormtroopers rushed in, firing with inhuman accuracy. And following those Stormtroopers came a massive figure, his body shadowed in a cloak.

Vader sidestepped a stray bolt, then reached down to grab his recently constructed lightsaber from his belt. Igniting it, he deflected another bolt that would have otherwise impacted into his armored neck.

This attracted the attention of the cloaked figure. Turning towards Vader, he drew a second lightsaber from in his cloak, and a sky-blue blade emerged from the hilt. The figure strolled through the carnage. Swatting aside a very brave Stormtrooper who attempted to stop him, the figure swung his blade at Vader.

Blocking the sideways cut, the red fire and green lightning cracked once, then shimmered together, and, for just a fraction of a second, blended together in a beautiful red-green color. That color quickly vanished as both blades moved again, in a blur of motion.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N  
Before I give you this chapter, there are several people I would like to thank. Well, who am I kidding, you can just scroll down now and read if you'd like. But if you want to see what I have to say, then please, stick around.**

**First, I would like to thank my friend 0Tricia0. She has been doing an excellent job ensuring that this story stays as error free and grammatically correct as it is. (We will be doing a collaborative fan-fiction together in the near future, so keep an eye out for that)**

**Second, I would like to thank Sgt. Rill. He has been the most frequent reviewer and an amazing supporter of this story. I salute you, sir.**

**Third, I would like to thank all of you guys out there reading this. Yup, all of you. I never dreamed that my writing would be this popular, and you have all been positive supporters and have encouraged me to continue writing. Thank you.**

**Finally, I am going to thank George Lucas for giving me something to write about. This literally wouldn't exist without his creation. He may have messed up a bit in the last few years, but I still have to give him credit.**

**If you have made it this far, thanks for reading. If not, then I can't blame you. I officially end this author's note, which is most definitely the longest one I've ever written. Enjoy!**

The roars of battle echoed through the Jedi Temple archives. Blaster bolt ricocheted, bouncing to and fro until they either impacted with a holocron stand, an unlucky trooper, or simply faded away into radiation. The noise was deafening, with the screams of Stormtroopers and the whine of the blaster bolts discharging, soaring toward their targets.

Over the sound of the carnage, Commander Appo's commands could just be heard, ordering troopers to more advantageous positions and ensuring that panicked Stormtroopers didn't break formation.

In the center of all of this, two figures could be seen. One monstrous and tall, wielding a pair of blue and green lightsabers, incredible agility enabling him to avoid his opponent's attacks, and land quite a few of his own. The opponent, a tall, (but not quite as tall as the cloaked fighter) very strong man clad in black armor, kept swinging, using long, wide, strokes.

They spun, around and around, only occasionally stopping to behead an intruder to their deadly dance. If it wasn't so lethal, it could have been considered beautiful. Swing, parry, swing, dodge. The swift, rhythmic, exercises continued. One green lightsaber reached up, claiming a stray bolt from the air at just the right angle to bring it down on the black-armored man.

With a flick of his wrist, the bolt sailed away from it's target, effortless as walking. Then, with a mighty swoop, the red lightsaber collided with the blue and green ones, causing both of the lightsaber's respective owners to stumble backwards. Both glared at each other from beneath their headgear. One leapt at the other, and the battle resumed.

* * *

The hum of his lightsabers. The whine of the blasters. The screams of agony as beings fell before him and his troops. The exquisite feeling of slicing through military-grade armor as if it were wet paper. It felt so good. So _right_. And it was an eternity since Grievous had experienced these things._  
_

Ever since his near-death experience, Grievous felt like a fruit left uneaten, his true purpose unfulfilled. The hunger for battle was eating him alive! And now, that hunger could finally be satisfied.

He hadn't bested a worthy opponent since Coruscant, with that Togruta Jedi Master, Shaak Ti. And that had been a long time ago. The being he was fighting now was most definitely a worthy one. But this black figure before him, he was different. None of the grace or finesse that the Jedi used. No, this one was a sith.

Perhaps one of Dooku's old disciples gone rouge. It was possible, nearly all of them had at some point. But the skill and mastery of the force seemed beyond any of them, even that witch Ventress. She had been skilled, but nothing like this.

The being was strange, that was for sure. The black armor, red lightsaber, emotionless face-mask, all of it. The only thing that evidenced he might be a living being was the slow, methodical, breathing that was constantly being emitted from the triangular mouthpiece.

Whilst all of these thoughts were whirling in Grievous's mind, the battle still went on. He didn't have to think about what he was doing; his mostly-artificial brain took care of it for him. His organic bits were left to think freely, and he was putting them to good use. Analyzing attack patterns, measuring defense capabilities, compiling all this information into one, simple, flawless, attack strategy.

The figure was very powerful, his swings being able to rival Grievous's own strength. However, he was very seriously lacking in mobility. The defense he used was also flawed, though not to such a great extent. The chestplate he wore had a panel embedded into it, lights constantly blinking. That had to be something important.

Grievous lashed out with a particularly hard strike. The red blade intercepted the attack, but the strength of it caused him to stumble back. While he was still recovering, Grievous struck again. The tip of his blade just sliced through the panel, causing the lights to flicker. A loud sizzling could be heard over the blaster fire still filling the room.

The armored being let out a furious scream, the sound echoing off the walls and causing feedback loops in Grievous's audio receptors. The sith shot his right hand out, and Grievous felt himself lift into air. He hovered there for a fraction of a second, before flying backwards and slamming into a wall at a respectable fraction of a starfighter's flight speed.

Grievous fell to the ground, lightsabers rolling out of his stunned hands. Though his armor was designed to withstand the hardest impacts, it didn't mean he should do so regularly. His damaged audio receptors could barely pick out the noise of the sith's black boots advancing towards him. Slowly standing up, Grievous played one of the last cards he had left.

With his right hand, Grievous reached to his neck and undid the clasp that was keeping his identity hidden. Freed, the tattered cloak fell to the ground. Grabbing a total of four lightsabers of of his metallic waist. He split his arms, and ignited the lightsabers held in each hand. Then, with a spinning rotation on all four hands, he said, "Greetings. From your reaction, I take it you recognize me?"

The sith stood there a few meters away, staring shocked at the sight before him. His lightsaber nearly fell out of his hand. Shaking his head as soon as he realized this, the armored man said, "This is impossible. You are dead."

Grievous laughed, and began marching towards the figure, limping slightly on a bent leg. Several Stormtroopers broke off from the main conflict and were moving in to support their leader. Turning briefly to what remained of his commando squad, Grievous told them through his internal comlink, "Disengage and download the information we're here for."

He turned again, and began swinging and hacking at the 2 dozen Stormtroopers now rushing at him. It appeared they had abandoned any hope of defeating him with skill, and had turned to their numbers advantage to attempt to overwhelm him.

Unfortunately for them, he had the ability to attack, block, and parry up to 20 times a second. Each Stormtrooper could fire about 2 rounds a second and have any chance of hitting something. And the odds of them hitting anything weren't that great, even when they took their time to fire and weren't under the pressure of a certain death if they missed.

In other words, it was a massacre. White-armored limbs, heads, and bodies littered the archive floor. 2 dozen Stormtroopers were reduced by half in the span of 10 seconds.

The sith raised a black-gloved hand, ordering his troops to break their assault. A commander saw the gesture, and began shouting at his surviving men to get out of the combat zone as fast as possible. The few remaining Stormtroopers took up defensive positions a few meters away, keeping their blaster trained on Grievous.

He stood, looking at the sith standing before him. He looked so calm, betraying none of the rage that had previously empowered him to throw Grievous clear across the room. "I would love to know the identity of my opponent," Grievous said mockingly, "If you would be so kind."

The sith continued to simply stand there, and said, "I am not foolish enough to beseech my name onto you. Now, I would suggest that you leave, otherwise I will kill you. And I will have to ensure that you stay dead this time." The Stormtrooper commander in the back raised a hand, waiting for the order to fire.

Grievous scoffed. "Do you really think that _you_ can kill me? I've survived far worse." With that, Grievous carefully measured the distances and angles of his four arms. The hands on those arms slowly began to rotate. Large, glowing, cuts were left in the floor where the lightsabers made contact.

Grievous began slowly marching forward. The rotation accelerated. Going faster and faster, the individual blades vanished into whirling arcs of light. The sith took several steps back, trying to figure out how to counter this new threat. Igniting his own blade, he thrust it forward into the spinning colors, attempting to stop the movement.

He nearly lost his arm. The angle at which he stabbed caused him to fall downwards, his red lightsaber flinging itself backwards. Grievous let out a laugh of triumph, and stopped the spinning motion. Aiming his four blades downward, he thrust, attempting to remove a few vital systems.

The only thing that saved the sith was a sudden force leap, carrying him safely to a point a few meters away. With another use of the force, his lightsaber rushed at him from a small crack in the ground.

A growl emanated from Grievous's vocabulator, furious at being robbed of his kill. Placing all four of his lightsabers in a defensive posture across his chest, he walked towards the black-armored sith, waiting for him to strike.

And he did. The red blade curved downward in a loop, crashing into Grievous's blades so hard, it nearly pushed through his defense. But it didn't, and Grievous shot out a taloned foot that smashed into the sith's leg. The results were quite shocking.

On contact, it tore through the leather exterior. The light armor underneath gave very little resistance. Then, where Grievous expected to feel flesh and bone, he only felt more metal. A strong alloy that only bent a few degrees when Grievous made contact. The resounding clang echoed through the room.

Grievous's leg was alright, it, too had suffered little more than a few splintering cracks and a slight bend. However, it left him stunned and vulnerable for several seconds.

The sith took advantage of that. A red lightsaber flashed. Pieces of metal clattered onto the floor.

Grievous stared at the white-hot stump of his arm. Beside him, he could see the other half of it, a deactivated lightsaber rolling out of it's grasp. Grievous looked back up at the sith. He was still standing there, putting most of his weight on his uninjured leg.

Just as Grievous was debating whether to reenter combat or flee, the BX-series commandos reported in. "Sir, we have downloaded all target information. Returning to shuttle for exfiltration."

"Acknowledged," Grievous sent back, quite thankful for the timely message. He turned back to the sith, and said, "I apologize for leaving early, but I really must be going. Please give the Emperor my regards." He deactivated his three remaining lightsabers and sprinted to the door.

Before any of the troopers could ready their weapons, he was out of the room and halfway down the hallway. Most of the remaining Stormtroopers outside the archives didn't even see him run by. He made it out of the Temple in less than a minute. Looking ahead, he could see four out of the original six BX-series boarding the ship, meaning that the Imperials had taken a pair of them down.

As the shuttle was taking off, white-armored figures began pouring out of the temple gates. They formed a hasty firing line, and began taking pot-shots at the retreating ship. The vast majority of red bolts whizzed past the cockpit, doing no harm whatsoever. _Honestly,_ Grievous thought to himself, _They need to spend far more time on the shooting range._

The liftoff procedures ended, and the shuttle rocketed upwards through the atmosphere. By the time they reached the cloud-line, the Imperials had barely scrambled their fighters. When the ship finally had reached the _Invulnerable_, the other capital ships in orbit were still being notified of their status and location. When the _Acclamator_-II was entering hyperspace, the ships had just begun to turn towards it.

All in all, it showed that the Imperials _really_ needed a communications upgrade.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N  
No! It's not true! Don't listen to the rumors; I'm not dead! *Insert triumphant music here* I am so very sorry that I haven't updated this story in a full week. My schoolwork decided to try and drown me. So last week, I had such good fun writing essays and taking tests, I just couldn't write anything that was non-schoolwork. However, I'm back, and I am still alive. So please stop rioting and attempting to mob me. That's right, I can _see_ the pitchforks and torches from here. I can't be a very good writer if I'm dead, now can I?**

**Disclaimer: You know, how many times do I have to do this? I'm pretty sure people know that I don't own Star Wars.**

The metal doors hissed open in Darth Vader's private chamber. On the newly minted Star Destroyer _Exactor_, the communications array was one of the finest of it's kind, likely the best money could buy. And it had an incredibly long range, allowing instantaneous communication across the galaxy.

And it was a good thing it had such a long range, otherwise Vader may not have been able to contact his master, off-world visiting Korriban, informing him of the events that had just transpired. And it was imperative that he did so.

The fact that General Grievous had survived his apparent death on Utapau was very disturbing. When their lightsabers had met, Vader had felt the strength of a fully functioning, very angry, cyborg. He had read the report; the injuries the general had sustained were not easily shrugged off, and even with just a month to recover, it appeared that he was at peak efficiency.

There was also the question of why Grievous was even on Coruscant in the first place. He had obviously been looking for something in the temple archives, but Vader had absolutely no idea what it could be.

Sighing, Vader made a mental note to check the archives, and look for anything the general could have been searching for. He nearly groaned when he realized the act would take the better part of the day.

The action of his left knee kneeling on the platform in the center of the room triggered a command, and withing seconds a ghostly blue image of the Emperor rose up before Vader.

Of course, that man the image is of was so much more than the Emperor. He was Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith. He had been Palpatine of Naboo, senator turned chancellor. He had been Anakin Skywalker's closest non-Jedi friend. He had been his corrupter, the creator of this black-armored being kneeling before him.

The Emperor smiled as he saw his apprentice. Of course, some beings would refrain from calling the action as such. It was little more than the rotting, scarred tissue in his lower facial region rising slightly. This act was, needless to say, quite revolting.

"Ah, Lord Vader!" he spoke in that slow, methodical voice of his, "And how are you today? You are well, I trust." Underneath the black helmet he wore, Vader's expression changed to one of disgust. _Though I suppose I don't have much room to talk,_ he thought to himself. Most would find his many burns and massive amounts of cybernetics just as terrible as the Emperor's permanently damaged face.

Vader gave no outward sign that these thoughts were racing through his head, giving Sidious no motive to question him. Taking great care to ensure his reply was as emotionless as possible, he spoke to his dark master. "I am fine, master. However, a matter has transpired which must be brought to your immediate attention."

Sidious nodded slowly. "Very well, Lord Vader. What is it that I must know?" Vader hesitated. What if _he_ were blamed for the events that had transpired? He would probably be killed and cast aside like a child's broken toy. His life, his short, precious, life, would be over so quickly that he would have no time to fulfill himself as a Sith.

It was too late now. Palpatine was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for his response. To Vader, the look was eerily like a predator evaluating it's prey. Once again carefully measuring every syllable, he said, "There has been an infringement on Coruscant, master. It would appear that Obi-Wan Kenobi... failed in his mission to Utapau. General Grievous was spotted in the old Jedi Temple."

The skin where Sidious's eyebrows once were lifted slightly in mild shock. This, Vader knew, was a very rare occurrence. He could barely remember the last time he had seen his master surprised at anything. The fact that this had done so was most concerning.

"Are you sure, Lord Vader? Perhaps you could be mistaken?" Vader shook his armored head, signalling to Palpatine that no, he had been most accurate with his report.

The emperor sighed, the thin rasping sound coming from under his cloak. "This is very troubling, Lord Vader," he said, in a deep, threatening voice, "I don't need to tell you that Grievous could threaten our empire if he is allowed to run loose. Drop anything you were doing when you found him. Hunt that menace down, and bring me his head!"

Vader experienced a feeling of shock at his master's words. It was extremely rare for Sidious to be this angry; most times he had his usual air of cold and calculating evil surrounding him. Hastily nodding in response, he said, "Of course, my lord. At once."

The yellow, bloodshot eyes just visible behind the Sith Lord's cloak narrowed. "See to it, Lord Vader. Take care not to make the same mistake Kenobi did."

The image of those eyes stuck in Vader's mind long after the Sith's form dissolved, and the transmission faded away. They haunted him as he exited the room, the terrifying color chasing him down the hallways and into the lift, following him all the way to the bridge.

And halfway across the galaxy, on the deserted world of Korriban, Darth Sidious smiled, knowing that his little trick had completed it's job.

* * *

Grievous marched onto the bridge, a pair of magnaguards flanking him out of the lift. If it were at all possible, the general would have been trembling in excitement. Ordering to the bridge crew that he was not to be disturbed, he retreated into a small side room. Drawing a small disk out of the recesses of his cloak, he inserted it into a console on the wall.

The screen on the console instantly fired up. Briefly displaying a CIS symbol, it changed to show the data on file. Scrolling down through the data, he found what he was looking for.

It appeared that his previous data was correct; a pair of beings did enter the temple archives. Sensors at the time showed one unidentified, one human. They had fought their way through the hallways to the archives section from the back entrance, then changed the recall code there.

Then, the two life-forms had split up, the unidentified heading towards the mushroom-shaped Senate Building, and the human going over to 500 Republica, home of the most prestigious and influential people in the Republic. Or Empire, as it was now.

There was a chance, an almost infinitely small chance, that some gene in the unidentified being caused it's species to be unreadable to sensors. If this was true, Grievous would have had two targets to pursue, with no way to tell the difference until he layed eyes on their owner. But the chances of that being true were, again, infinitely small. And so it was more logical and desirable to go after the human target, on the basis that it was most likely Kenobi.

About to leave the room with the information he needed, something made Grievous pause. Walking back over to the console, he entered another query into the file. The mystery of the Nubian on the Mustafar landing platform still hadn't been solved. On a hunch, he searched for recent 500 Republica residents who owned such a ship.

He only got one result. Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo. She had died a few days ago, Grievous knew, off-world somewhere in the outer rim. The report he had read on it was suspiciously vague. The question was, why had the Senator of Naboo gone to _Mustafar_? That didn't matter now, so long as he find Kenobi. And now, he might just have to go back to Coruscant to locate where Kenobi had went.

The hard part about that was, how? The Imperials had now surely been alerted to his survival, and he wouldn't be surprised if they were assembling a fleet to go after him. Going back to Coruscant now, in the same vessel, would be suicide. One scan and the fleet orbiting the planet would destroy them, likely in the span of a few seconds. No, he would have to find another way.

Perhaps they could pose as merchants? It wouldn't be too difficult; there were plenty of ships in the area that would suffice. The problem was, this ship probably wouldn't be fast enough to disable them before a message was sent to Imperial authorities. And if a message was sent out, the result wouldn't be all that different if they had simply gone to Coruscant itself.

He needed a distraction. And for a distraction, he needed more ships. For more ships, he needed a planet and shipyards. And for that, he needed droids. For droids, of course, he needed factories.

With a drawn out sigh, Grievous realized this was going to be a very long-term project.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N  
****Apologies that this chapter is up a day late. I was very busy and away from the internet most of yesterday, and so had troubles posting it.**

**I realized why they had to kill off Grievous in Episode III whilst writing this chapter. Had he stayed alive, he would simply have caused so much damage to the galaxy and the Empire that the canon timeline we know in the original trilogy would have been impossible. He is simply too large of a character. Please enjoy. May the Force be with you, always.**

**Disclaimer: I think I'm just going to throw the disclaimer into the story description. It would be much less annoying there, don't you think?**

Searching through the Imperial databanks, it didn't take Grievous too long to find what he was looking for. It appeared that there weren't too many black-armored Sith Lords in the Empire.

Darth Vader. That was the name. He was Sidious's apprentice, and someone he most definitely had to kill. If Sidious died, then Vader would simply take his place. If Vader died, Sidious would get a new apprentice. There was one solution, and it was very simple at that.

Both had to die. Within the span of a few days, if possible. The resulting power vacuum would destroy the Empire from the inside out. Of course, if Grievous's experiences with Tyranus and now Vader said anything, Sith were not easy to kill. As he had been told repeatedly in his training, he must have fear, surprise, and intimidation on his side to defeat the best of the Jedi.

He was pretty confident that applied to Sith Lords, as well.

Surprise shouldn't be much of a problem. Simply jumping down from the ceiling in front of them would suffice. Intimidation would be a little more difficult. The jumping from the ceiling tactic might work. He'd have to work on that one.

Fear... fear would be very challenging. A large part of being a Sith was not to dispel fear, as it was with the Jedi, but to become an embodiment of fear itself. So the question was, how does one scare fear?

He received no answers from the database in front of him, nor the database that was his brain.

Fear was going to be very challenging, indeed.

* * *

The I.S.D. _Invulnerable_ exited hyperspace, the hyperdrive shutting down and sublight drive re-initializing. It reentered orbit in the Atrivis system, lowering power levels to a minimum that would allow them to maintain orbit. For the first time in several days, Grievous laid eyes on the _Independence_, drifting in orbit a few hundred kilometers ahead of them.

For an instant, gazing at the ship through the bridge windows, he felt an odd sensation. A sense of longing, in a way. It took Grievous several seconds to identify it. Collecting memories, sifting through them, he managed to put a name onto it. Sentimentality.

He was feeling sentimental towards a _ship_! Besides the fact that he shouldn't be able to feel most emotions, he couldn't believe he was feeling for a collection of bulkheads and power conduits. For in the end, that's all the _Independence_ added up to. It was a useful ship, but hardly deserving of his special attention. He made a mental note to get A4-D to check his head out soon.

Shaking his head, he turned to the droid at comms. "Prepare to send a message down to Atrivis VII's leaders, whatever government they may have. Audio only." The droid's thin, metal head bobbed once, and the message was sent.

As Grievous had previously noted, Atrivis VII exported large amounts of valuable ores and minerals. However, unlike before, those exports would provide some use for him. He needed a fleet, one large enough to survive and take on the Empire. The _Independence_ was a good ship, and the _Invulnerable_ had served him well, but he needed more than that. Now that the Empire knew of his survival, there would most likely be many vessels after him. And the two ships he had couldn't hold up to that.

It would take some time, but he would be able to build up a fleet. The ores that Atrivis VII had would be useful in ship construction, and give him a starting point to build from. Perhaps, in time, he would be able to provide a very credible threat to the Empire's stability. Their hold on many outer rim worlds was still very weak; he could probably break their grasps on many with a few well placed strikes.

Once the fleet was finished, he would be able to challenge them at the core, where their hold was strongest. He could see it now, him leading vast armies through Coruscant's cityscape, killing that piece of slime who called himself Emperor, and ending his reign. The right way, none of that sneaking around and capturing their leader when they could have dealt a crippling blow. And then, with the galaxy under his control, he could find Kenobi.

But he was getting way ahead of himself here. It would be a long time, probably many years before he had the strength to truly attack the Empire. He needed ships, and armies, and good commanders to lead them. And this insignificant little green ball below him would be the first step to that ultimate goal.

The droid at comms had finished opening the channel, and gave a nod to Grievous to indicate that his transmission was successful. "Leaders of Atrivis VII," the General said, "You may be wondering who you are speaking to, and why this transmission is being sent from an Imperial ship. Unfortunately, I cannot inform you of this, as it would be a breach in security.

"However, rest assured that no harm will come to you... so long as you surrender and lay down your arms. Any attempt to resist will result in _very_ unpleasant consequences. I await your reply." With a wave of his hand, he gestured to the droid to end the message. With a soft click, the recording ended. The computers then did their jobs, packaging up the signal into an acceptable bandwidth, and sending it down to the planet below.

Within minutes, the reply message was received. It, too, was audio only, but the Coruscanti accent made it clear he was talking to an imperial officer, perhaps the governor of the system.

"Unidentified speaker, this is Atrivis VII. I am requesting live communication. We can discuss things more easily that way." Grievous narrowed his eyes. There was no way that an Imperial would give up that easily. This had to be a trick of some sort. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a small chip and handed it to the droid at tactical. That chip contained Imperial access codes retrieved during the first raid on Coruscant, carried out by his BX-series commandos.

"Use these to deactivate their defensive shields and turbolaser batteries. Make it look like they're coming from the regional governer." The droid nodded, and inserted the chip into its console. Briefly, Grievous considered why he was trusting a B1 with such responsibility. Shaking the feeling off, he turned once again to the comms officer. "Initialize audio only live communication," he instructed.

The speaker's voice once again came over the comm line. "Greetings, sir. Now, the people of Atrivis VII would like to negotiate surrender terms. Go right ahead, Prime Minister." A new voice could now be heard. It was nervously shaky, obviously terrified of something, most likely the unidentified ship in orbit.

"H-hello, sir. I-I would like to negotiate my... I mean, o-our terms. F-for surrender." The tactical officer signaled to Grievous, indicating his success. Inaudibly, Grievous chuckled. The fools down on the planet were completely defenseless, and they didn't even know it. He could destroy them at any time he wished, be it with a swift volley of blaster fire or a well placed wave of torpedoes.

In fact, he almost gave the order for his turbolaser batteries to fire, but realized the disappointing truth that he needed the leaders of the planet alive to keep the common folk from rioting, something his weakened army couldn't handle.

"Of course, Prime Minister," Grievous spoke, "We would be happy to discuss terms. Now, I believe that complete-" Grievous paused as his enhanced hearing picked up a sound. Through the communication unit, he could hear a slight whirring noise. It repeated, sounding something like a CIS flak gun being reloaded.

And also through the transmission, he could hear what sounded like angry shouting. Most beings wouldn't be able to pick up the faint sounds. If Grievous could have grinned, he would have.

"It appears, minister, that your defense turrets aren't working. I wonder how that could have happened? And at such an inconvenient time, too. It looks like you will have to agree to our terms. Surrender now, Minister, or I will kill you, the Imperial governor, and a minimum of 100 colonists. Do you really want that blood on your hands?"

Down on the planet below, the leading council, terrified beyond relief, weighed their options. The loss of those colonists would be crippling. 100 of them amounted to 5% of their civilian population, and the deaths of the Prime Minister and Imperial governor would destroy their political system. And if they refused after the killings, the ship in orbit would probably just kill more of them.

Comparing that to an occupation by an unknown force, that had a chance of being merciful, or at least keeping them alive there was very little contest. Unanimously, they agreed.

Taking a deep breath, the Prime Minister muttered reluctantly into the comm unit, "We accept."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N  
****Greetings to all! This chapter is a tad short, but please forgive me. As you know, I have been quite busy lately. I think I should inform you that, because of Thanksgiving, I will not be updating this story for a little bit. I really need to take a breather. So instead of the usual 3 day interval, I will be updating on the first of December. Go enjoy Thanksgiving with your families, guys. Thanks for all of the support I got for the last chapter!  
Oh, and Sage of wind Dragons, your review has definitely been taken into account.**

**Disclaimer: This is the last in-story disclaimer I am doing. It's going into the description, now. I do not own Star Wars.**

Atrivis VII was a rather nice world, filled with grasslands and mountain ranges that created a sense of majestic beauty. Most of the northern hemisphere was covered in ocean, and so the majority of the human colonists resided in the south, living in simple, easily constructed dwellings.

Of course, the planet's beauty was surpassed, in the opinions of many, by the massive amounts of natural ores contained in veins under the mountains. The minerals there were quite valuable, used in many forms of starship construction. This is where the greater portion of the population found employment, going into the mines daily to extract the valuable materials.

And so, naturally, these ores had attracted the attention of other powers. Originally a Republic world, it had seceded into the CIS, along with many other outer rim systems. Then, upon the end of the Clone Wars, was one of the first former CIS planets occupied by the fledgling Empire.

Most of the population didn't care who they were controlled by, so long as they weren't too oppressive. Those larger decisions were made by the ruling council, a select group who resided within the capital city, some thousand kilometers away from the planet's largest mountain range.

And so, as CIS landing ships descended from the sky, lowering towards the strategic locations across the planet, most of the populace looked up with little more than detached interest. The ships unloaded battalions of droids at their landing zones, B1s, B2s, Destroyer Droids, and various tanks ensuring that none of the colonists tried to resist their new overlords.

In the capital city, Grievous arrived the prearranged meeting point, accompanied by a cadre of bodyguards. Town Central, as the locals called it, was simply a large square, with various plants and pathways spread throughout the hundred square meter space. The Prime Minister, ruling council, and several other important figures waited by the fountain in the center.

Upon reaching a point around 5 meters from the group, Grievous held up a hand, signalling for his escort to halt. He kept moving, however, until he was only a couple meters away from the obviously nervous Prime Minister.

"You are the one who is going to occupy us, then?" The minister said, quite scared of the monstrosity in front of him. Grievous nodded, feeling that no further acknowledgement was necessary.

The Prime Minister sighed. "And I suppose that you are going to produce a document of some kind that will undoubtedly legalize this invasion with the Empire?" A green-gray clad Imperial Officer in the party stiffened slightly as he heard those words.

Grievous scoffed at the statement. "I do not care whether this invasion is _legal_ or not. It has happened, legally or illegally. No amount of political squabble can change that." Turning to the officer, he said, "You are the system Governor, I presume?"

The officer nodded warily. "Yes. What is it to you, mechanical filth?" He said, knowing all too well what was likely about to occur.

A low growl emanated from Grievous's vocabulator. "Watch your tongue, Governor, or I might have to remove it." Turning to his bodyguards, he said, "Lock up all of the Imperial personnel in one of the city prisons. If you can't find any, send them into the mines."

The mines, while far from as deadly as some of the more famous ones such the Kessel asteroids, were still inhospitable. One tended to avoid them if they were claustrophobic or disliked cave-ins, which happened frequently in some of the poorly constructed tunnels. An ideal place to put someone if you wanted to get rid of them for awhile.

IG-116 and IG-128 led away a quartet of protesting officers, heading towards the Town Central exit. The Prime Minister glanced nervously after them. "I trust the we won't receive the same treatment?"

Grievous nodded. "So long as you keep the populace happy. Lower taxes, execute troublemakers, I don't care. Just ensure that there are no rebellions and the people are agreeable with our presence."

The minister bowed slightly, indicating his obedience. "Of course. If I may have your permission...?"

Waving his metallic hand, Grievous gestured for them to leave. The Prime Minister and his remaining entourage left the premises, probably heading to the Capitol Building where they resided.

IG-104 stepped forward. "Sir," He said, "Sensors have located the old battle droid factories from the Clone Wars. They are on a small island a few hundred kilometers from here. We can reactivate them within a few hours, and the materials required are easily accessible. Would you like to revive them?"

Grievous turned to face the droid. "Yes, reactivate the factories," He said, "Prioritize B2 and Destroyer Droid production. Don't bother with the worthless B1s. Pointless things..."

IG-138, who happened to have a mobile comms unit, relayed the message to the _Independence_ in orbit, telling them to send down repair crews and construction parts for the factories.

All in all, the whole operation was going according to plan. The planet had surrendered, the colonists didn't much care who their new overlords were, and all without a hitch. In fact, if the Jedi were still around, Grievous could swear that one would jump out of nowhere and ruin it all, just to infuriate him.

That was how it seemed to happen during the Clone Wars, after all.

* * *

Darth Vader was angry. No, angry was an understatement. A very serious understatement. He was furious.

Furious with Captain Wilcox for his blasted, overbearing, better-than-thou attitude. Furious with Captain Atzir for his complete lack of respect. Furious with Captain Tzenketh for his constant political maneuvering.

But most of all, he was furious with Darth Sidious for giving him explicit orders not to kill them.

Collectively, the group had all of the traits of a shining Imperial Officer. Arrogant, self-righteous, kiss-ups, the lot of them. He would be well within his right mind to throw them out an airlock. Or stab them. He wasn't too particular on that point.

His flagship, the _Exactor_, along with a small fleet, comprising of the _Forerunner_, _Wendigo_, and _Avail_, respectively, had been assigned to hunt down and destroy General Grievous at all costs. Unfortunately, it appeared that when he had fled Coruscant, he hadn't headed straight to his destination. He had completed a series of micro-jumps, heading from one point to another, before going to his true destination.

That meant that each time they dropped out of hyperspace after following his trail, they had to search for the other jump point, which unerringly was in some obscure and hard to get to place. They had been at it for several days now, and the complete process was expected to take up to a week.

Even more time to spend with those little Imperial rays of sunshine. Vader still couldn't figure out why he couldn't have been paired with some more agreeable officers for this assignment. Perhaps Moff Tarkin. They had gotten off to a good start during the Kashyyyk mission, and Vader thought the two of them could get a good working relationship going.

But no, he had to spend over a week with those people, who, Vader suspected, at least, were the most annoying officers in the Empire. Perhaps he could make it look like an accident...

No. Sidious would see through that facade in an instant. Vader might as well kill them outright. He had to admit, the thought held a certain appeal.

The fleet was currently searching through an empty parsec of space, looking for the tell-tale signs that a ship gave off when it was in sub-light speed. Once they were found, it would be easy enough to calculate the trajectory and head to the next jump point. But again, it took around 4-5 hours to locate the signal for each jump. The time was, in Vader's opinion, completely wasted.

He would much rather be hunting down Jedi survivors, making sure that their crushed order could never rise from the ashes. It was one of the few things that still brought him pleasure. The joy of destroying the enemy he had once thought of as a friend. They were traitors, all of them.

Most of all, Kenobi. His former master had destroyed him, ruining the young Sith before he had a chance to unleash his full potential. How he longed to kill that slime, wipe the constant smirk off of his face. He'd show him. He'd show everyone.

The Chosen One can never be truly defeated.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N  
Hello, readers. I have a quick announcement to make. In the coming chapters of this story, I am going to need a _lot_ of starship names. And let's be honest, I can only come up with so many. So I have a good solution. In each of your reviews, attach 2-3 decent starship names at the bottom. No I.S.D. _Sparkly Glitter_ for an Imperial Star Destroyer, OK? I'll take the names from the reviews as I go, and attach them onto ships. It's a win-win! I have to spend less time coming up with good names, and you get to leave your own little mark on the Imperial Navy. So get those names rolling in! Happy reading!**

The day after Grievous's occupation of Atrivis VII, the planet was completely subjugated. Not one revolt had risen up, nothing had gone wrong, and most importantly, no Imperial ships had arrived in orbit.

While the droid factories were operational, and producing droids in a near constant stream, Grievous's fleet was severely lacking. He needed ships, desperately. Anything with a hyperdrive and turbolasers would do. He could worry about upgrading to military-grade starships later. Right now, he would be willing to accept just about everything.

But how would he get ships? Even moderately sized classes like the _Munificent_ took the better part of a year to build. It was up to two years for _Providence_ and _Luckrehulks_.

Maybe he could hire pirates? With exporting the excess mining materials from the Atrivis system, he would have enough credits to hire them. But pirate ships would be temporary; there was no way he could sustain a large fleet of them for more than a few months. They would have to be supplementary to his primary fleet.

Captured Imperial ships, perhaps? That could work. If he could figure out how to disable, board, and seize the ships much more effectively than his current strategy, it would be a viable option. He would need to remind himself to get some engineers working on it.

With some luck, there was a chance he could find some only mildly damaged ships floating through space. With some more luck, they would be warships, that could be boarded, captured, and repaired in a matter of hours. But, unfortunately, the odds of that were stacked against him. The Empire would hardly leave it's ships floating around in space for anyone to grab.

It appeared that he would have to capture Imperial starships. But how would he do that? Most Imperial ships were heavily armed, armored, and manned. All it took was one small mistake, and he would be out of business. Permanently.

Imperial shipyards had partially constructed ships. If he seized ones in the later stages of construction, he could complete them in a matter of days. But again, most shipyards had ships defending them. He had two ships... if he used one to lure away the fleet, he could grab a handful of ships with minimal resistance.

It could work. But it was an awful risk. If he didn't attempt it, it was only a matter of time before the Empire hunted him down. He could keep them guessing, not knowing where he would strike next. And after each attack, his numbers would grow. Yes, this was a viable strategy.

A quick hack into the Imperial systems told him all he needed to know. Immediately dismissing major shipyards like Kuat and Rendili, he sifted through the minor construction facilities, looking for ones with high production but low defense.

There weren't too many. Never let it be said that the Empire doesn't guard it's assets. Perhaps Bacrana? No, the defense there was far too strong. Ihopek looked promising. There was a shipment of _Victory_-classes scheduled to be completed next week. But the planet had a massive gravity well, formed by it's close proximity to the star it orbited. There was no way they could escape in time.

Nearly all of the available planets were discredited as options by factors such as these. Be it the defense was to strong, they simply didn't produce enough, or natural factors that couldn't be avoided. The list quickly dwindled.

One planet caught his eye. The first planet in the Abraxas system, a hot, mountainous world called Radix. Imperial presence there was light, but the orbital construction facilities had a very high production rate. And the junk that orbited the planet would provide excellent cover from Imperial scans.

He had found his target. In a few days time, it seemed the I.S.D. _Rati_ would be docking for routine repair and crew shore leave. That would be the perfect time to strike. If timed right, he could leave the system with an _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer in tow. That would definitely be considered a victory.

Grievous did some quick mental calculations. He had the droid factories on Atrivis VII pumping out B2s and Destroyer Droids at maximum output. That gave him about 500 droids in total per day. If he wanted to catch the _Rati_, he needed to leave within a week. That gave him, at most, 3,500 droids, plus the 350,000 already stored in the _Independence_. The crew compliment of an Imperial Star Destroyer was usually around 47,000. While on shore leave, it would be expected that about quarter of them would be on the planet.

So he had quite a comfortable margin. If the numbers were correct, he had just over a 10 to 1 advantage. More than enough for his battle droids. With any luck, the operation would be over before the planetary defenses knew what was going on.

Unfortunately, however, if there was one thing that Grievous had learned during the Clone Wars, it was that if something can go wrong, it will. And there was no guarantee that the garrison would chase after his other ship. It was imperative that they did so. The _Independence_ couldn't hold out against a planetary defense force for very long.

But there were other matters to attend to as well. Other systems in the Atrivis sector were being subjugated by the Empire. Before long, a fleet would jump out of hyperspace and destroy the progress Grievous had made, most likely along with Grievous himself. He needed a way to protect himself, and subtly take control of the area at the same time. He would need to think on that.

After all, it wouldn't do to have an Imperial fleet enter orbit.

* * *

Darth Vader's boots echoed down the near-empty hallway. It was an eery sound, and combined with his deep, slow breathing, was enough to put any Stormtrooper on edge.

And at the end of the hallway, the two Stormtroopers flanking the door were clearly nervous. It was only natural, of course. Somehow, they could feel, almost _sense_ the anger and frustration radiating off of the approaching Sith Lord. So the pair of them hastily stepped to the side as their superior swept through the entrance, not even bothering to salute as protocol normally dictated.

They both let out a small sigh of relief that the terrifying black-armored figure had apparently taken no notice of them.

The two guards had no way of knowing, but the reason for the Sith's anger was directly behind that door.

* * *

Three gray-clad Imperial Officers looked up from the holograph they were intently studying at the mechanical sound of the door swishing open. Vader could tell, from where he was standing, that they were startled at his sudden entrance. They all looked at him for a few seconds, worried about... something. You could never tell with these people.

Captain Atzir was the first to regain his bearings. He smiled slightly, and said, "Ah, hello, Vader. You're nearly 10 minutes late, what kept you?"

A low growl came from Vader's triangular mouth grill. He hadn't failed to notice the lack of title and respect in the officer's words towards a superior. In fact, far from it, he had been expecting them. But that didn't make it any better. If only he could draw his saber, slice through his insolent little...

"I am a very busy man, Captain," Vader said through gritted teeth, "You would do well to remember that." He felt a sense of satisfaction as a cloud of fear covered Atzir's eyes, if only for half a second.

Wilcox stepped forward. "Of course you are," he said, not noticing his companion's reaction. "But I'm sure people like us who are in the field far more frequently are busier. And we have more hands-on experience, as well."

Don't think about it. Think of power. Think of anger. Think of hate. Think of anything other than slowly, painfully, killing these miscreants...

It was Captain Tzenketh who spoke next. "We have found information that should be of some use. Would you like to see it, sir? I'm sure you could make it worth our while." Vader sighed. The man should have been a politician. At least then he would have been with people just as annoying as him.

"Captain, I am not going to reward you for information I will find out whether you inform me or not. Now tell me. What have you found?" Tzenketh shrugged, and began mumbling to the floor.

Vader looked at the other two captains. Atzir still looked nervous, and could hardly meet his gaze. Captain Wilcox appeared more forthcoming. "Lord Vader, we have been able to find where Grievous is headed. It appears to be in the Generis system. I'd like to see your fancy technicians do that." He added, with a smug note in his voice.

Behind his helmet, Vader raised an eyebrow. Privately, he could now see why these men were given, and held, high rank in the Empire. Though that didn't mean he had to like them.

His sensors officer had told him that finding the end destination of all those blasted micro-jumps would be impossible, at least without going to each individual location. Obviously, he would be having words with him later.

Generis, the system had 9 planets. One was inhabitable. That made the job of finding Grievous much easier. It was a decent number of sectors away, but not too far. Within two weeks, they could enter orbit. A base delta zero should take care of any resistance.

Many officers would have issues on a moral basis about razing a planet with a population of over 3 million. But to a Sith, those 3 million, they were inferior. They were worthless. They barely qualified as life-forms. And the Imperials hardly cared, in fact, Vader suspected they secretly enjoyed it. So no protests were raised, and no arguments were started when Vader instructed the captains to prepare for the coming bombing. They where being obedient for a change. He was confident none of them would rebel anytime soon.

At least, they had better not. Lest they face the wrath of the Sith.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N  
Thanks to all of you guys for so many amazing starship names last chapter, and also for setting a new record in reviews. I got 6 of them last chapter, and I just want to thank you guys so much for the support in this story.**

**On a more in-universe note, I have two things I would like to say. First, yes, I will have a chapter or two featuring the Jedi soon. They have most definitely had an easier time than in canon.**

**And two, I was poking around on Wookieepedia a few days ago, looking around at the galaxy map, trying to find a certain planet, when I stumbled across this little fact: The first Death Star actually spent two years in the Atrivis Sector under construction. That means that the Death Star is being built just a few hours away from Atrivis VII. Who knew? It'll be an interesting plot point, that's for sure.**

Captain Ferris relaxed slightly in his chair, sighing in content. Having just returned from shore leave, he was naturally relaxed. The hot air of Radix had done a very good job of relaxing his constantly tense muscles. Even now, an hour after he had left the surface, it still felt like bliss.

Through the intercom on the wall, the voice of the comms officer on duty flooded into the room. "Captain Ferris, report to the bridge." A low groan escaped from the captain's lips. It was so comfortable here... he could just doze off and sleep...

No. The bridge wouldn't have contacted unless it was important. Or unless there was a coup of some kind. That kind of thing happened far too often on Imperial ships such as these. Power-hungry officers would arrange to murder the ship's captain, then grab power and take control of the vessel. The captains, naturally, became paranoid of such things. And the officers would have to try harder to seize control, and the loop would continue, on and on. Just how the Emperor wanted his battleships controlled.

Stepping outside of his quarters, he gestured for the two Stormtroopers on guard duty to accompany him. Just as a precaution, in case someone decided this would be an opportune time to get a promotion.

The three of them entered a turbo-lift, Ferris keying in the codes that would take them to the bridge. It was a prolonged and boring ride, the lift taking several minutes to rise up the long command tower. Eventually, the lift door opened, revealing the usual dull scenery of an Imperial bridge. The pair of Stormtroopers exited the space first, marching into the room and taking up positions flanking the entrance.

Satisfied that there would be no assassination attempts today, Ferris left the lift as well, walking down the long path to the foremost point of the command tower. The bridge crew stood at attention as the captain walked by. "Report!" He barked.

It was the senior sensors officer who spoke. "Sir," he said, "Long-range sensors have detected an energy signature. It's an _Acclamator_-class, sir. Heading straight into this system."

Ferris shrugged. "I fail to see why that constitutes rousing me from my quarters at... what time is it? 0230? Well, I fail to see why that constitutes rousing me from my quarters at 0230, lieutenant." The sensors officer, however, was unfazed.

"Sir, the signature matches that of the ship that infiltrated Coruscant last week." Ferris's eyebrows aimed for his hairline. What the devil was that ship doing here? Coruscant was a hundred parsecs away! And why would it come here, of all places?

The sensors officer spoke up again. "The ship is turning about, sir. Heading for the sector border." Ferris's experienced tactical brain began processing information. Whoever captured or destroyed that ship would gain favor with the Grand Moffs. Perhaps, if they were lucky, the Emperor himself. But the _Rati_ wasn't up for a fight at the moment, with a large portion of the crew on shore leave, relaxing down on the planet.

He almost instantly came up with a solution. He could get some of the other ships in the area take out the _Acclamator_, then kill the senior staff of those vessels, and take credit for himself. Yes, that would work. Nice and simple. And make it look like an accident.

This kind of thinking came naturally to all Imperial officers. The dirty political maneuvering that they so often remorselessly employed was sought for when the Empire had recruited them. It was instinct for them. They could betray their best friend without a second thought if it got them more power, more influence. This was how they were, and nothing could really change that.

Ferris turned to another member of the bridge crew. "What other Imperial ships are in range? Ones that can catch that _Acclamator_."

The crewman tapped briefly at his console. Pulling up fleet deployments, he said, "The _Vigilance_ and _Pursuer_ can be on their way in a few minutes, sir. We might be able to get the _Diligence_ out in time, as well."

With a quick nod, Ferris turned to the comms officer. "Send them all. Tell them that..." He paused, searching for a suitable name to drop. "Tell them that Darth Vader wants that ship destroyed, and will reward whoever does so handsomely." Though not many officers knew much about Vader, most knew that he was not a man to be crossed, and that he was very close to the Emperor.

Making record time, two flashes of light that could only be the _Vigilance_ and _Pursuer_ vanished into hyperspace, leaving the system in under a minute. The _Diligence_ soon followed. Quite proud of how he had handled the situation, he settled into a comfortable stance by the window, and ordered one of the crewmen to bring him a cup of caf.

About 5 minutes afterwards, the man returned, holding a steaming cup of caf in one hand and a container of the captain's beloved sugar in the other. Ferris scooped several generous helpings into the steaming cup, and began stirring the substance in with one of the straws provided.

Halfway through this ritual, a bright flash of light rushed through the windows, followed by a violent shaking, leaving many of the bridge crew stunned and half-blinded. A young security ensign was on the unfortunate receiving end of an exploding console. The man went down in a shower of sparks, clawing at burns on his face and neck.

Clutching desperately at his cup, Ferris braced himself against the transparisteel window with his free hand. "What the blazes was that?!" he screamed at the bridge crew, who were just starting to regain their bearings.

One officer managed to make it back over to the sensors console. His already pale face lost any color that may have remained as he looked at the short-range sensors. "S-sir! There's a _Lucrehulk_ battleship emerging from Radix's rings!"

Ferris nearly dropped his cup of caf when he heard the word _Lucrehulk_. The ship had apparently taken refuge in the rings, where special materials would have hidden it from sensors. The vibration must have been the massive ship's opening volley. Which meant that another one would soon be making contact...

As if on cue, the same half-blinding light and sickening vibration struck the ship. More consoles exploded, plasma raining down on their unlucky operators. Ferris thought he heard the ominous power-down sequence of the shield generators behind all of the noise and screaming. That was a very bad sign. Well, he had to do something, didn't he? "Shields up!" He roared.

The man at tactical frantically shook his head. "Negative, sir! That last volley took out the shield generators." Ferris's blood ran cold. Without shields, and against a ship of the size and armament of a _Lucrehulk_, they were as good as dead. He considered sending out a distress signal, but quickly remembered that the comms array was closely hooked in with the shield grid. Along with half-a-dozen other systems. Ferris silently cursed the _Imperial_-class designers for that major flaw.

For several more minutes, the merciless barrage continued. A few of the engineers managed to reroute some auxiliary power to the turbolaser batteries. Though that meager defense helped, it was nowhere near enough to ward off the determined vessel. Fires were springing up all over the _Rati_'s hull, and one by one, systems were shutting down.

The only hope they really had for survival was that the other ships he had sent ahead to destroy the _Acclamator_. They might just be able to return in time to save the _Rati_ from destruction, or whatever ultimate fate awaited them.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, a cry of alarm came from one of the console operators. Ferris whipped around, walking carefully over to see what had caused the man's fear.

The operator pointed at the console, gesturing at the screen. When Ferris saw what was displayed there, he instantly understood why the crewman was speechless.

_Droch_-class boarding crafts, at least a thousand of them, forming a massive black cloud that nearly blocked out the sunlight reflected off of the Radixian rings.

_Ah_, was all he could think. _That is going to be a problem._

* * *

The plan was going perfectly. The _Invulnerable _had successfully lured away the rest of the defense force, leaving the _Rati_ alone in orbit. And very susceptible to attack.

The _Independence_ was by no means a small ship, and in most cases would have been detected instantly by even the weakest sensor arrays. But they had exited hyperspace behind the junk-filled rings that orbited Radix. Many of the materials in them had broken down into a substance that blocked sensors. And that meant that they were as good as invisible, to everything except the naked eye.

The first few opening volleys had been devastating, disabling shields, comms arrays, and all sorts of other important systems. That made the job of capturing the behemoth much easier, but also increased the time it would take to get the ship all the way up to 100% effectiveness. Grievous wanted the ship as intact as possible. So now, exactly 1,035 _Droch_-class boarding ships were racing towards the command spire of the _Rati_.

The 6,210 droids contained within the rapidly approaching ships would be more than enough to take the bridge and surrounding area. For what Grievous had in mind, they had to get to the life-support systems. Once that was accomplished, the ship would be theirs.

Grievous was sitting in one of the leading attack pods. It was a somewhat tight fit, with the large bodies of him and his six guards hard pressed to squeeze into the tight space. But they managed, and he would be glad to get out of the cramped area and into the Imperial starship.

The star destroyer opened fire, firing barrage after barrage at the boarding craft. The weakened turbolaser batteries were horribly inaccurate and underpowered, but nonetheless a select few of the attack ships disintegrated under the hail of fire. Grievous counted around ten of the thousand-odd boarding craft spiraling away into the infinite blackness of space.

As the group drew closer to the massive vessel, their rate of causalities grew higher. The more the distance between them shrunk, the more accurate the Imperial turbolaser bolts became, and the easier it was to use the numerous point-defense systems mounted on the ship's hull. More ships exploded in bright flashes of light.

Then, finally, the boarding craft had impact. They swarmed around the command tower, landing on any available location around the bridge. The Stormtroopers in the general vicinity of the landing were undoubtedly experiencing a very nasty surprise.

Grievous's boarding craft impacted just a few meters beside the original goal, opening up and giving them a clear way into the Imperial ship. Reaching into his cloak and grabbing a pair of lightsabers, he ignited them. The two sky-blue blades shimmered in the Imperial lighting.

Waiting just enough time to put the Stormtroopers who were undoubtedly waiting outside on edge, he gestured towards the opening, and gave his guards one command.

"Forward."

* * *

Two squadrons of Stormtroopers had taken up positions outside, using supply crates and wall corners as cover. Fully expecting B1s, B2s, or perhaps Commando Droids to emerge from the ship, they were taken completely by surprise when six IG-100 Magnaguards rushed out at them, followed closely by a very angry cyborg they identified as General Grievous.

The plastoid armor that all Stormtroopers wore was effective in battle, protecting them from explosive shrapnel and, on occasion, a glancing blaster bolt. The armor was not, however, designed to withstand the full force of a lightsaber swing, nor the voltage of an electrostaff. And so, the two squads were reduced to nothing more than gruesome bodies on the floor within 30 seconds of the boarding ship's original hull puncture.

They advanced through the ship, killing Stormtroopers as they went, occasionally meeting up with other boarding parties. They made rapid progress, and Grievous reached life-support control with all of his original escort plus around 30 B2 super battle droids.

With one mighty kick, Grievous sent the door to the room flying inwards. Cries of shock and fear escaped the Imperials inside. Grievous rushed in, followed by the droids behind him.

A pair of Stormtroopers stood ready, flanking the door. Grievous's robotic arms flashed out, one lightsaber beheading each of them before they had the chance to pull their triggers. The Magnaguards followed their leader in, and moved to intercept a group of troopers trying to form up on the opposite side of the room. Needless to say, the formation action was unsuccessful after that interference.

The first few B2s entered next, opening fire on the Imperial Officers charged with maintaining life-support. A few seconds later, the jobs had opened up for vacancies.

The room was fully pacified almost immediately, leaving no Imperials alive and losing only 3 B2s to the cross-fire. IG-104 stepped up to report, a light scorch mark where he had failed to dodge out of the way of some Imperial blaster bolt quickly enough. "Sir," the droid said, "Life-support is under our control. Your orders?"

Grievous regarded him. "The bridge cannot override any actions we take from up there, correct?" The droid shook his head. "No, sir, in fact, we have received an update from squad 9. They have captured the bridge, and the crew up there is being held hostage."

Impassively, Grievous looked at the droid. "Instruct all battle droids except for those on the bridge to disengage and fall back to their landing zones, then vent the atmosphere of this vessel. Everywhere. Open as many airlocks as you can manage, as well."

IG-104 broadcasted the message to all of their combat units. Then, with the complete lack of emotion that only a droid could manage, released the atmosphere everywhere on the ship, sending roughly 30,000 Imperials on a one-way trip out an airlock.

And, turning back to Grievous, said, "We are now the uncontested controllers of this ship, sir."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N  
Wow. How long has it been? 2 weeks? I am so very sorry for my extended absence. I got sick, then had to catch up on schoolwork, and then the holidays appeared. So yeah, I have had literally no chance to work on this story in a very long time. My most sincere apologies to my readers who have been waiting for an update. This is long overdue. Please, enjoy, and I'll try to get the next installment out in a more timely fashion.  
A very apologetic EnsignRicky.**

Grievous couldn't have asked for a better outcome. The _Independence_ received almost no damage, and the _Invulnerable_ had given the three pursuing Imperial vessels the slip. He had lost only 200 droids in the boarding of the _Rati_. And, perhaps most importantly, the _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer was his. The damage it had suffered would be repaired after a week in orbit of Atrivis VII, quite an acceptable figure, considering how bad of a state it could have been in.

The immense firepower of the _Rati_ would be invaluable. The V-Wing and ARC-170 starfighters would be good supplements to his own small craft. And who knew how many battle droids the thing could transport?

Upon their return to Atrivis, Grievous ordered the _Rati_ to be put in synchronous orbit with the factories below. The materials needed for repair could be shipped up more easily that way.

The damage the other two ships had sustained were minor, and could be fixed in a few hours. That, too, was a blessing. The _Invulnerable_ could have been destroyed by the pursuing Imperial ships, and the _Independence_ could have been permanently crippled if they had failed to take the _Imperial_-class by surprise. If so much as a lucky shot had hit a critical system, who knew what could have happened?

Having an _Imperial_-class was all well and good, but he needed more ships to take on even a small Imperial fleet. And he doubted many ships would be left in such an inviting position like the recently captured _Rati_. Especially after the stunt he pulled during its commandeering. Ships would be far more closely grouped together, patrols would be larger. It looked like it would just get harder and harder to grab decent ships.

He needed a far more efficient and effective way of getting vessels. There were more than enough vessels out there, but they were just out of reach. It was infinitely infuriating, knowing they existed, but being unable to do anything to seize them.

At least he had plenty of credits available. The excess from mining operations saw to that. Bankruptcy wasn't going to be a problem anytime soon.

Wait... credits... that's it! Many Imperial Officers, he knew, couldn't actually be in support of the Emperor. Quite a few were simply drafted, or had become disillusioned with the whole thing and were waiting for a chance to jump ship. He could give them a chance to do so. A healthy sum of credits to the right person could bring them over to Grievous's cause. Money was an excellent motivator.

And there was another bonus as well. Living, breathing soldiers had motivations, souls, and hopes. Things living creatures possessed that couldn't be replicated in a droid. Unfortunately, living beings had just as many unlikable traits that made them equally annoying. But a combined force of machines and organics, that would be worthwhile.

Of course, he would need to find people who might be willing to do so, had a decent amount of valuable resources, and provided Grievous with sufficient reason not to kill them. If he could get enough officers like that working for him, he would easily be able to survive.

An hour later, after sifting through the Imperial records that had become so valuable to him, he had a small list of likely targets, all just waiting for a call.

* * *

The _Gemini_ was a rather important vessel. Flagship of a small Imperial fleet, it had routinely patrolled Imperial trade routes for the past month, ever since the formation of the Empire. Currently, the ship, along with the rest of the fleet, was stationed on the Correlian Run, aiming to stop smugglers that routinely raided Imperial trade.

Thus far, nothing eventful had occurred during the patrol. The _Imperishable_ had taken a stray asteroid to its bow, but the repairs were almost complete. The only other thing of significance was the odd message that currently occupied the _Gemini_'s captain.

"I assure you, I am loyal to the Empire!" He spluttered into the comm unit, "I would never think of betraying his majesty!"

The strange figure on the other end of the conversation laughed. But it wasn't a humorous laugh. It was far too cold, and metallic to be such. It was completely devoid of humor. "The fact that you didn't shut your comm off the second I said treasonous words about that man proves that you _do_ have thoughts of leaving the Empire. And I can pay you handsomely for doing so."

The captain remained silent. Staring at the hooded thing on the other end of the transmission, he jumped when it suddenly barked, "Now, will you join me or not!? I don't have all day, and if you decide against it, I will have to kill you. Choose quickly, captain."

For some reason, such was the ferocity and fierceness in the thing's voice, that the captain didn't even pause to question the creature's ability to kill him without any means of contact. And so, without even stopping to consider the consequences, he immediately accepted.

And across the galaxy, conversations just like this were occurring all day, with Imperial turncoats throwing aside dignity and what may once have been loyalty in favor of money, self-preservation, or a combination of both.

* * *

Gazing at the twin setting suns fading over the dusty horizon, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat in his old hovel, relaxing for the first time since coming to this hell-hole of a planet. He had found this old dug-out shelter after dropping Luke off at the Lars' homestead, it's previous owner probably killed by wandering tuskens or some other equally gruesome death.

The place was over a ridge from the family, far enough away that he wouldn't disturb the Lars, but close enough to get there quickly if danger arose. And it was vital that he was near enough to reach them if something happened.

Luke was the galaxy's last hope, he and his sister, both separated at birth to protect them from the sith. If Sidious found them, it would be over. If they died before they could stand a chance against the new-born Galactic Empire, it would be over.

Which is why Obi-Wan had agreed to watch over Luke until he was old enough to become a Jedi. Tatooine was a dangerous planet, and only the toughest survive. Even so, as he had once told Anakin, there were worse places to live than Tatooine.

Obi-Wan immediately felt a stab of regret at this thought. Anakin Skywalker, his friend, apprentice, and man he called a brother had betrayed him, and the entire order, to the sith.

He missed his old friend. Even though he was nearly 20 standard years older than Anakin, he had still been closer to him than any man. And striking him down, that had hurt Obi-Wan more than he had ever been hurt before. And that hurt still remained. But he was a Jedi. And that meant channeling out all emotion.

But even so, he would give just about anything to see Anakin walk over one of those dunes and smile at him. Or scowl. He didn't really care. Just seeing his old apprentice again would alleviate his suffering greatly.

But of course, that wasn't possible. Unless Anakin had begun practicing some obscure ritual before he had died, he doubted he could speak to the dead.

However, Obi-Wan did want to speak to him. A multitude of questions flew around his cluttered head. But most significantly, was _why?_ Why did he do it? Joining Sidious, the slaughter at the temple, all of it. Why? Yes, he had loved Padmé, but how that had that caused him to join the Sith, Obi-Wan had no clue.

But again, he is a Jedi. And this is how he knows that these questions will haunt him forever if he lets them. And so he shuts them out, and lets his mind go blank. And he simply sits, and stares at the twin suns as they sink below the horizon.

Then, when the two orbs completely vanish below the dust-ridden earth, he turns and reenters his hovel. The sand will still gather overnight, he knows, and already there is a thin layer from the duration of time he was outside. But the ritual of clearing the sand out, day after day, is somehow comforting to him, soothing, almost. He will do the same thing, every morning, every night, for the next 19 years. But it will be worth it. Every minute.

He could have no greater honor than spending the rest of his years watching over his fallen apprentice's son.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N  
Hello, again. Thanks for all of the support I got last chapter. I was off camping in the woods last weekend, and it was very, very, cold. So my had trouble moving my fingers for a while, which is why this chapter is a day late. Sorry. After the holidays my writing schedule should revert to its original 3 day rotation period.  
**

**Oh, and another thing. I haven't looked at the views for this story in awhile, and I looked before posting this chapter. Drumroll, please! As of this posting, we have... 5,707 views! Wow, I guess that shows you guys are really enjoying my writing. Thank you so very much.**

**For some reason, this chapter just seemed really bad to me. I can't figure out why, but If I do, I'll go back and change it. Let me know if you find anything wrong with it!**

A week later, two dozen Imperial vessels had reported to the Generis System. From _Tartar_-class patrol vessels to the massive _Imperial_-class, all with captains who were, more or less, willing to work for Grievous. The crews, on the other hand, had no guarantee of loyalty. There could be a mass revolt at any time if he didn't weed out the trouble-makers.

So now, having called a meeting with all of the vessel captains, he instructed them on policy and what he would be expecting them to do. With several dozen battle droids present, of course, just in case someone got any brilliant ideas. No sense in taking any risks; they could all turn on him at any time. Better to let them know that any sign of rebellious activity would not be tolerated.

"Tomorrow we will have the _Rati_ fully repaired. I will require a captain for it. You will all send me one suggestion from your crew, and I will select the one I deem to be the most qualified. I expect your recommendations within two days. Any questions?"

One of the _Tartar_-class captains tentatively stepped forward. "If I may, a... my l- no, I mean, g-" Grievous growled slightly in annoyance. "I don't care about titles. If you must address me, you will simply call me 'General'. Now say what you have to say."

The man nodded, somewhat confused. In the Imperial Navy, titles were everything. To now work for someone who seemed to have such a disregard for them was... different, to say the least. "Of- of course... General. Will it be possible to recommend... well, ourselves? Because, um, I- no, I-I mean _we_, may desire to-"

Grievous held up a hand to stop him from going further. The Imperials had a way of doing things that far from suited him. The Emperor encouraged deceit, intrigue, and an excessive amount of political maneuvering amongst his subjects. It appeared they expected him to operate the same way. Well, he would have to remedy that.

"I understand," he began, silently scoffing. He understood their situation, but he hardly cared. "That you are used to a different way of doing things. Your former superiors were very different from me. In many ways.

"I am far more direct, and when I tell you I want something done, I mean it. I suspect I'm also... much harsher with punishment. Do not make the mistake of crossing me. There is a very good chance it will be the last thing you ever do." The captains exchanged nervous and apprehensive glances. "Follow my commands and directives well, and you will be rewarded. Show any sign of treachery, incompetence, or idiocy, and I will kill you. Don't think that you are not expendable. You are."

More signs of nervousness. Some of them looked anxiously at the numerous battle droids standing impassively at the exits. The _Tartar_-class captain spoke again. "Right, um... so, regarding my question...?"

He stopped suddenly as Grievous glared at him. "No, you may _not_ recommend yourselves for this position. I am already shorthanded on officers, and having a captain transfer and leave a ship without a commander will cause more problems than it solves. Recommend your first officer, or some other high ranking crew member. Just make sure they're ready to command an _Imperial_-class with a crew of droids."

With the last part of his statement, there were a few voices raised in indignation and cries of protest. A loud hissing sound passed through Grievous's face-plate, filling the room with the ominous noise. The officers fell silent, all of a sudden realizing they may have just made a very big mistake.

Grievous raked each of them with a terrifying gaze. Oh, how having one of their officers serving over a few thousand droids must be an insult to their human superiority. How _inconsiderate_ it was of him not to think of that.

Grievous straightened his mechanical spine, removing the ever-present hunchback appearance from his massive figure completely. Then, he untwisted his ankle joints, adding half-a-meter to his already imposing height. Standing at just over two meters, he loomed over the tallest captain present.

"Does anyone here have a problem with that?" He said, with pure malice in his voice. He looked over the assembled crowd, who were huddling together, probably for moral support. One of the marginally braver ones shook his head. Altogether, they reminded Grievous of a group of startled insects. Which, in reality, was pretty close to the truth. One word came to Grievous's mind. _Pathetic_.

How in the 6 Corellian hells was he supposed to take on an Empire with this lot? They were all weak, cowardly politicians in a military commander's uniform. He doubted most of them had any combat experience whatsoever. It really looked hopeless.

He did have one thing positive thing. The Empire was made up of people just like the shaking, huddling mass in front of him.

* * *

Atzir's whine cut through the air. "But Vader, if we could draw ships away from this station, we would be better able to assault Generis. I don't care how _important_ it is! We need those ships!" The two other captains beside him nodded their agreement.

Darth Vader sighed, and for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, began explaining to these fools why they couldn't draw troops from anywhere else in the sector. Really, why couldn't they just accept the fact that they weren't the emperor? They didn't make the demands here. Vader did.

"This is a tactically important sector," He explained slowly, as if to a child, "And the station you wish to draw ships from is a tactically important location. If we took vessels from its defense force, it would destabilize the entire area. If we did that, we would weaken the Empire, and I'm _sure_ the Emperor wouldn't be happy with that. Would he?"

"Well, no... of course not..." Tzenketh said, backtracking rapidly, "But I've never heard of this 'DS-1 Orbital Battle Station' before. It can't possibly be _that_ important." Atzir and Wilcox clearly agreed. Vader stared incredulously at them. He had assumed that they had been referring to one of the defense satellites, not the Death Star itself. And besides, that was highly classified information! A very select few knew about the Death Star's construction. How could these clowns have figured it out?

In any case, it didn't matter. After this mission was over, they would either be trusted with the information or killed to prevent it from leaking out to the general public. Vader sincerely hoped it was the latter. And he _really_ wanted to kill these annoyances himself.

The three of them were looking expectantly at him, waiting for some form of response. "Listen to me, captain, when I say that it is of sufficient tactical importance to prevent us taking ships from it. And also listen to me when I say this: if I hear another word of protest from any of you, suddenly you will find yourself one limb short. Understood?"

The three of them nodded hastily in agreement. Wilcox opened his mouth to say something, but clearly thought better of it. Vader looked at them for several seconds. Then, finally satisfied, he nodded. Turning and walking towards the door, he said, "We arrive in the Generis system in two days. Be sure your crews are ready and prepared for battle."

**Regarding the holidays: I'm going to be gone for some time, and the earliest I can post will probably be January the 3rd. So I suppose this is the last you'll see of me until after New Years'. So go have fun, and enjoy this time with your families. _Au revoir_!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N  
So, how were all of your Holidays? I rather enjoyed mine. I finished the recently released _Tarkin_, and I have to say, I loved it. It remained pretty true to _Legends_ Canon, and the story was very nice. I must say, James Luceno is one of the best Star Wars authors out there. If you haven't already, go check out _Labyrinth of Evil_, _Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader_, and _Tarkin_. I promise you won't regret it.  
****Happy New Year!**

Commander Dence nearly jumped out of his seat when the comm implanted in his desk chimed. Within his somewhat cramped quarters, the sound seemed to become magnified, many times its normal volume. But it wasn't magnified, in fact, a quick check of the room's audio receptors showed that the sound was slightly diminished. Probably a glitch in the emitters.

Rising from his surprisingly comfortable chair, he walked across the room to the work desk, currently tucked in a corner. With a series of taps on the slide-out keyboard, he entered in his access code, an impressively long series of numbers and digits.

"This is Commander Triberis, to whom am I speaking?" He said, using the cover name assigned to him by ISB command. If someone were to check his records, it would show that Commander Hildi Triberis had served as second officer on the I.S.D. _Gemini_ for the better part of a month, after being transferred from the _Acclamator II_-class _Diligence_.

Of course, the real Commander Triberis had been eliminated by the Empire during the second week of the new order, in Emperor Palpatine's first purge of the old Republic naval officers. After undergoing some cosmetic surgery, Dence, freshly promoted from Lieutenant Commander by Darth Vader himself, had stepped in to take over the role of Triberis.

The whole process was being repeated all over the galaxy, with agents from the ISB, Naval Intelligence, and COMPNOR infiltrating starships and Stormtrooper companies, for various reasons. Each time an officer was killed or defected, there was either a cover-up operation or an intelligence agent prepped and waiting to take his place. By now, nearly two months into the Galactic Empire, Dence suspected that around 1/20 of naval officers were actually agents from one of the various organizations.

Emerging from the comm unit, Dence was greeted, or more accurately, addressed by the cold, mechanical voice of a battle droid. "This is IG-116. General Grievous requires your immediate presence. Board the shuttle currently landing in the _Gemini_'s aft hangar bay and report to the Capital Building within 30 minutes. IG-116, out."

And before Dence had a chance to acknowledge the message, the transmission terminated. Dence slowly leaned backwards, until his back was against the wall. This was certainly a development.

As the second officer of the _Gemini_, he obviously had the clearance to know about the recent events that had been occurring, and no-one would be suspicious that he did know. But as an ISB operative, he was privy to some additional information. For example, no-one below the rank of Rear Admiral and intelligence operatives knew the details of what had occurred on Coruscant a week ago, when Grievous had broken into the Jedi Temple, murdered several dozen Stormtroopers, and stolen some very valuable information.

With Grievous on the loose, the Empire's stability was severely at risk. With most systems in the Outer and Mid rims still out of the Imperial reach, half the known galaxy was open to full scale rebellion. All that was required was the right propaganda campaign, some riot instigators, and enough ships and weapons to supply a full scale rebellion.

However, if the Empire could make their _own_ propaganda, and it was effective enough, the rim-ward systems might remain loyal or join the Empire, and a large revolt might be averted.

But as a lowly ISB agent, that was not his concern. At least, it wasn't until he was assigned to do something about it.

Dence removed his weight from the wall, and straightening his uniform, made his way towards the door. He was just about to exit the room, when the comm chimed once again.

With a small sigh, he glanced at the chrono on the opposite wall. He did have plenty of time, but if at all possible, he wanted to avoid talking to another battle droid, for that was surely what was calling him.

Retracing his steps, he re-entered his access code into the terminal. "This is Commander Triberis," He spoke, somewhat annoyed. "With whom am I speaking?"

The deep, bass voice that boomed from the speakers alerted him instantly. "This is Darth Vader. Authorization V-1 47-38 2 98 Alpha. Hello, Commander Dence."

"Lord Vader!" He said, nearly shouting. "It's an unexpected honor! I-I didn't expect to speak to see you again so soon."

"Nor did I, Commander," Vader responded, "But I require your expert services again. I am aware you are on the _Gemini_, and that the ship recently vanished from patrol along the Corellian Run. This disappearance coincided with 2 dozen other reported absences. I trust you can shed some light on the subject?"

"Of course, Lord Vader. You see, recently the ship's captain received a transmission from an unknown person. I don't know the details, but immediately after the message ended, he ordered helm to alter course to the Generis system. No one protested; I suspect they thought he had received revised orders from the regional Moff."

Vader chose this moment to intervene. "The Generis system?"

"Yes, sir," Dence said, somewhat confused. "We are currently in orbit of Atrivis VII, along with 23 other vessels. I suspect that holds some importance?"

Vader paused for a moment to consider something. For a solid five seconds, the only sound coming through the transmission was his incredibly loud breathing. Then, coming to a decision, he answered the commander's previous question. "Say nothing of what I am about to tell you to anyone. Not a word. Understood?"

"Of course, my lord," Dence replied after a small pause. "I understand completely."

"Good," Vader said, satisfied. "As we both know, there are 24 ships in orbit of Atrivis VII. And we also know that General Grievous is on one of those ships, or the planet's surface.

"We both are aware of the threat that Grievous poses to the New Order. As such, the Emperor has ordered his destruction, at all possible costs. I am on the way with a small fleet, and will arrive in approximately a day and a half.

"If what you say is true, then we are outnumbered by 6 to 1. We cannot draw ships from the nearest station, and all other locations with ships to spare are out of range. If we are going to complete our mission, we need tactical information. Ship deployments, tactical locations, natural elements we can take advantage of. As much as you can gather."

Dence's head began to spin slightly. Without a doubt, this was the largest assignment of his career. And quite likely the most dangerous. Well aware of Grievous's reputation during the Clone Wars, he didn't want to think about what would happen to him if he was caught. But this assignment had been requested of him by one of the highest authorities in the Empire. And that was his duty, to complete whatever task was assigned to him.

"Yes, my lord. General Grievous has requested my presence. For what, I don't know. I will transmit all of the information I have when I'm back."

"Very good, commander," Vader said. "I expect a full report upon your return."

Dence smiled slightly. "Of course, my lord. Now if you will excuse me, Commander Triberis has a meeting to get to."

* * *

Since the occupation of Atrivis VII had begun, the capital city had become something of a fortress. Flak guns, starfighters, and battle droids were almost constantly pouring in. In the central city, a portable shield generator was even being set up. The engineers working on the project said that nothing short of a turbolaser blast would punch through the boundaries when the fortifications were complete. To a lesser extent, the same defenses were being implemented in other major cities across the planet.

Naturally, the capital complex, just north-west of the center of the city, was the most defended location. Only those who had the proper clearance were allowed entrance, otherwise they would face the several hundred droids constantly on call, and the mobile artillery located around the area.

The shuttle currently landing outside the capital building was one of those that had approval. In fact, that particular shuttle had clearance from General Grievous himself, and so the guards didn't so much as stir when the shuttle flew by and touched down unopposed.

Commander Triberis, accompanied by half-a-dozen B2 escorts, stepped down the ramp. Advancing down the concrete path leading to the capitol building's entrance, the pair of guards at the entrance stepped aside. The party advanced through the doors, at a somewhat brisk pace. Behind them, the two guards closed the doors.

After a long path of winding through the buildings twisting hallways, they arrived outside of the room Grievous used as an office, of sorts. If the route had not been programmed into the memory systems of the battle droids, Triberis had no doubt that he would have lost his way on the complex path.

Leaving the bulky B2s outside, Triberis stepped inside the office. He was greeted, quite abruptly, by a very odd sight.

The room was unusually small, for starters. The place couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 square meters, measly in comparison with the offices of the higher ranking members of the Empire he was accustomed to.

Efficiency seemed to be a design and furnishing goal; there wasn't a square centimeter that didn't serve some purpose or functionality. Even the central part of the room, which at first glance looked empty, had a holoprojector implanted into the floor.

The last thing he noticed was the cyborg sitting in the desk chair. It was surprising, given the fact he was the biggest thing in the room. The chair seemed to creak and moan in protest under the General's undoubtedly massive weight.

"Greetings, Commander," Grievous said, gesturing at the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Sit. We have much to discuss."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N  
****I know, I know. Very sorry once again. I'm trying to figure out a way I can get these chapters out on time. Right now, I can either shorten the chapters or lengthen the time allotted to write it. I'm not entirely sure which of those options you people out there would prefer.**

**But either way, here is a somewhat edited for time edition of chapter 19.**

**Happy Civil Rights Day!**

To most beings, Coruscant was known as the center of the galaxy. Of course, it wasn't really in the center. That lay a good number of light-years north-east, in the nearly impenetrable galactic core. But the distance was small enough for the majority of people, and all but the most devoted scientists accepted Triple Zero, as it's military designation was, as the galactic core.

Coruscant was located in a very strategic position. Close proximity to a large number of major trade routes gave it a substantial income, and its incredible nearness to the deep core marked it as a central location.

Since nearly the foundation of the old Republic, Coruscant had been the seat of civilized government, and for millenia, whichever power that controlled Coruscant generally controlled most of the galaxy itself.

As such, massive improvements had been made over the millenia. Towers rose above the cloud line, artfully concealed artillery batteries lay hidden, and ships raced about, busying themselves with various required tasks.

The planet itself seemed to be alive. Towers were constantly being expanded or torn down. From orbit, the incredible number of ships traversing the planet gave it an appearance of slight movement. Deep below the natural surface's crust, the planet's core gave it something along the lines of a heartbeat.

Near the Senate district of the planet, there was massive construction underway. The recently renamed Imperial Palace had many ships swarming around it, bringing supplies, transporting slaves and workers, and patrolling the area for any who might take the opportunity to launch an attack. The project was far from completed, of course. The Presidential Palace's old exterior had been fully stripped off, and now construction was just getting started. By the time of the palace's completion, it would be the single largest building on Coruscant.

But such things, at the moment, did not concern the most powerful man in the universe. Darth Sidious sat in his temporary throne room on top of the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center. The said medical facility's first successful patient conferred with him.

"We have an Imperial Security Bureau agent in place on-board one of Grievous's starships," Vader's bass voice echoed around the empty space. "He should be transmitting all of the tactical information he has access to within the hour."

Sidious nodded, appearing a tad distracted. "Good, Lord Vader. I know you have the situation well in hand. And how are the other captains you are serving with? They are still breathing, I trust."

Vader audibly sighed. "It is very... taxing, master. They bicker and fight, for no apparent reason. I seem to be the target of their attacks more often than not. At this point, idle threats will only go so far."

Slowly, Sidious grinned. It was a hideous sight, thanks to his massively disfigured face. Vader visibly recoiled, if barely. Then, perhaps realizing his mistake, resumed his original kneeling position on the floor. Agonizingly slow, Sidious spoke. "I beleive, Lord Vader, I know what you request. You want to kill them, don't you? As painfully and as slowly as possible. Am I correct?"

Vader nodded. "Yes, master."

"Lord Vader, we have gone over this issue previously. You cannot release your anger and hatred outside of a time that it would benefit you. Save your power for Grievous. It will require a great deal of your strength to defeat him."

With a small groan, Vader answered, "I can hardly carry out your will if my sanity is no longer intact."

Sidious let out a low cackle. "Oh, I know it's not as bad as all that. Trust me, my boy, you'll emerge from this stronger and more powerful than you ever were before. I know you will find Grievous a challenge."

The black helm on Vader's head lowered. "As you say. I will report when Grievous has been destroyed."

With a wave of Sidious's hand, his apprentice vanished from the projector in the center of the room. Slowly leaning into the ornate throne at his back, Sidious looked more like his public image of Palpatine than a dark lord of the sith. There was something wrong with this whole mess. Something off. Like it wasn't real, as if it was a dream.

Which for all intents and purposes, it could be. The Empire itself was an illusion, really just a mechanic to exercise the Sith control over the galaxy. But this was different. This felt like something that Sidious himself had not conjured.

Without a doubt, this would require further study.

* * *

On Coruscant, the wealthy lived skywards. In a way, the height of one's residence was something of social status. The further up you went, the cleaner and richer the buildings and people became. Similarly, the more you descended, the more conditions took a turn for the worse.

If one were to venture down to Coruscant's street level, one would find a filthy, disgusting underworld, filled with crime and illegal activity. Refugees and military targets thrived; it could take months, even years for authorities to locate anyone down there. There were simply too many people, too much space, and not enough information.

In some specific locations, one could also find entrances. Some hidden, some clearly visible. These entrances, found in the most ancient of the Coruscanti street areas, led into tunnels that ran throughout the planet's surface. Dusty, crumbling brick tunnels that could lead just about anywhere. Over time, some had caved in, while others still stood, a sight that would have made their long-deceased builders proud at their accomplishment.

These tunnels stretched downward for a few kilometers, until they reached Coruscant's true surface. Once, in a time long since past, Coruscant had been a natural world. It had been the host of natural creatures, had oceans and mountain ranges. But now, those mountains were all but flattened, the oceans dried up, and all that remained of the indigenous life was the strange creatures occasionally found wandering Coruscant's underworld.

In one location, there was yet another entrance. But it was oddly out of place; having been built of durasteel instead of concrete. This entrance lead down a well-lit tunnel, into a cubical room.

That room reeked of dark side energies. The most likely candidate for that factor was the Sith had used this ancient shrine for centuries. Darth Plagueis had introduced the shrine to Sidious some five years into his Sith training. The shrine contained several dark side artifacts, and the many Sith Lords who had used it left behind their force signatures.

So meditating in this very old chamber, Darth Sidious searched for answers, questioning the dark side.

And in the darkness, the force answered.

The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N  
****I can tell time, I swear! I honestly can!  
But anyway, sorry again for keeping you waiting. I'm just so busy lately. I thought that my schedule would clear up more after the holidays were over, but obviously, it didn't. So what I'm going to do about it... that's the question.  
**

**I think the best option is to change the update frequency. So instead of chapters of 1,000-2,000 words every three days, I'll do chapters of 2,500-3,000 words weekly. That should allow me time to write, but make sure you readers out there keep receiving about the same amount of content. So what do you think? Am I a genius? Out of my mind? Should we wait to pass judgement until we see how the system works? Let me know what you think, and I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait.**

**_Enterprise_, one to beam up.**

The meeting was going rather well, at least in Dence's opinion. At least, as well as a meeting with a murderous cyborg could go. In fact, he had made it through nearly fifteen minutes of discussion with only two death threats. That had to be some kind of record.

But this was growing tiresome. It was pretty clear that Grievous hadn't called him here to discuss ship building, which seemed to be the main topic at the moment. As lovely as that information was, and as much as Lord Vader would like the time schedules of Grievous's starship construction, Dence honestly didn't want to sit here any longer than he needed to. The longer he remained, the more likely it was he would get his skull split open.

"With respect, General," Dence said, "I sincerely doubt that you requested me here for this... pardon me if I say it, but, trivial information. May I suggest that we move on to the true reason you requested my presence?"

Grievous's vocabulator emitted a credible impression of a snort. "I'm glad I haven't killed you yet, Commander. Straight to the point, I can respect that. Very well. Let's get started, shall we?"

Even as a non-religious man, Dence found himself silently muttering thanks to any gods who happened to be listening.

The massive figure in the chair in front of him reclined slowly. "Commander, you have been serving as the second officer on-board the _Gemini_ for... what? Just over a month?" Dence nodded warily, not entirely sure where this was going.

"Well, I suppose that qualifies you. Congratulations, Captain. Report to the _Rati_ at 1500 hours."

Dence's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Why do I report to the _Rati_? I serve on the _Gemini_."

Grievous sighed. "You used to serve on the _Gemini_." When Dence still looked puzzled, he said, "Isn't it obvious? You've been promoted. You have your own ship. You probably should start packing your things. I'll have a squad escort you up, if you wish."

Realization suddenly dawned on Dence's surgically altered face. "Th-Thank you, General. It's an unexpected honor!"

"You were the best choice," Grievous said simply, "Even with only a month of service on the _Gemini_, your credentials greatly outmatched those of the other choices. The only other one who was in a position to sit in the captain's chair was Commander Jovily from the _Ren__owned_. He edged you out slightly on service time, but you had more experience with command."

Dence frowned. "Well, sir, what made you choose me over Commander Jovily, then?

Grievous's eyes narrowed slightly. "Commander Jovily is a worthless kiss-up who has no place in command. You, on the other hand, are much more agreeable."

Dence paused, trying to figure out a statement that wouldn't risk offending the cyborg. "Well... I've never met the man, so I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. Good-day, General."

Grievous nodded, turning back to his desk, and reading something off of the terminal there.

Blinking several times, Dence made his way out of the room. He knew about the list of candidates for command of the _Rati_. Supposedly, he was the officer selected from the _Gemini_. Really, he had a one in twenty-four chance of being selected. But then, unexpectedly, Grievous had chosen him as the captain.

It was only then he realized the tactical information he would have access to as one of Grievous's captains.

If he maintained Grievous's trust, he would get a treasure trove of information. All the ship deployments and anomalies around.

One thing was for sure. Lord Vader would be very pleased with his report.

* * *

The three captains in the room jumped slightly as Darth Vader entered through the sliding door. Black cape flowing out behind him, Vader came to an abrupt halt at the situation table the trio were seated at.

Wilcox was the first to regain his composure. "Well, um, hello, Lord Vader. You're late, once again."

"Quiet, Captain!" Vader snapped. "Watch your tongue if you enjoy having it. And that goes for the rest of you, as well." He said, turning to address the other two, who had begun to draw breath for an argument of some sort.

All three captains quickly fell silent, unanimously agreeing that they liked their tongues exactly where they were.

After looking around the table for several seconds, Vader was satisfied they were silenced. "Good. The three of you aren't hopeless causes after all."

Vader rounded to the side of the table opposite from the captains. Powering up the holo-projector, he slid in a small chip. A miniature solar system with a total of nine planets sprung into view. "I just got off the comm. with our good friend Commander Dence," Vader told the trio. "He was kind enough to send us as much tactical data as he could muster."

Three pairs of eyes stared at the projection in wonder. The detail was absolutely incredible. If one looked hard and long enough, he could see individual buildings and streets on the surface of Atrivis VII.

While somewhat reluctant to admit it, Vader himself was extremely impressed with Commander Dence's work. There was enough data in his findings to make the task at hand seem easy. Which, of course, it wasn't, but all the little flaws in Grievous's defense gave the illusion that it was so.

After allowing the captains some time to examine the data, Vader pointed at a section of the map with a gloved hand. "We are focusing on these two planets here," He explained, "Artrivis VI and Atrivis VII."

The view narrowed to the two planetoids. "Atrivis VII, obviously, is the location that Grievous, his armies, and his ships will be in. We know he has two dozen star-ships, and a very large number of battle droids."

Twenty-four red, flashing, dots appeared in orbit of the seventh planet. "This has been confirmed as Grievous's flagship," Vader said, gesturing at one dot in a slightly higher orbit than the rest. "Order it as a priority target upon your exit of hyperspace."

Captain Tzenketh spoke up. "All well and good, Lord Vader," He said, still somewhat wary of the Sith Lord's previous threat, "But how do you expect four Star Destroyers to take on twenty-four other ships, at least half of which could beat us in a two-on-one battle."

"And these aren't exactly two-to-one odds we're talking about here," Atzir added, "Just in case you hadn't noticed."

Vader nodded, acknowledging the fact. "I am well aware of the numbers advantage they have. Which brings us to the reason for our interest in Atrivis VI. Or more accurately, our interest in its moon."

The current view narrowed even further, showing the desolate wasteland of Atrivis VI, and the somewhat more hospitable surface of its moon.

Small strips of light showed on the satellite's surface. "These," He said, "Are deposits of neuranium. One of, if not _the_ densest and heaviest metal in the galaxy. And this moon is full of it. In fact, the planet is actually closer to being in orbit of the moon, rather than the standard."

Tzenketh and Atzir were showing mild interest in the information. To them, it was nothing more than a quick science lesson. But Wilcox was deep in thought. Vader paused briefly, giving him time to puzzle it out.

"Neuranium... I do believe I've heard of that," The captain said. "Isn't it used for shielding radiation?" Vader nodded. Comprehension suddenly dawned on Wilcox's face. "Oh, and the stuff's nearly invulnerable to sensors! That's it!"

Vader held up a hand for him to stop. "Yes, captain, I do believe you've grasped the basics of my plan. Allow me to elaborate. We will revert to real-space behind the moon, so that we retain the element of surprise. For the next few months, Atrivis VI and VII will be within a fifteen minutes distance from each other. At an opportune moment, we can strike the seventh planet and complete the mission.

The three captains began to smile, clapping each other on the back and laughing out loud. "Don't celebrate yet, Captains. We have a long day ahead of us yet. I suggest you get some sleep. You will desperately need it tomorrow."

Watching the trio exit the room, Vader returned to the holoprojector. There was one small problem with his current plan. There was just enough neuranium in Atrivis VI's moon to prevent hyperspace travel. Any attempts at speeds faster than light within a few hundred-thousand kilometers of the moon would result in a rather messy re-entry.

But given time, he would find a solution. A passing asteroid looked promising. But at the moment, he was refraining from informing the three captains of this current predicament. If a solution presented itself, he would let the three of them know about it. For now, however, they would remain in the dark.

Just about anything to keep them shut up.

* * *

The dark chamber remained deathly silent. If not for the cloaked figure kneeling in the center, it would appear completely empty and undisturbed. As it was, an unobservant being would see almost nothing out of place.

Darth Sidious sat unmoving. However, while his body remained idle, his mind did not.

Weaving through the currents of the force, his senses enhanced by the residual force signatures in the chamber, he found himself in a small vision, of sorts. It was too brief and hectic to truly become immersed, but he saw enough to get the message the force was sending him.

It started as brief flashes of white light. Appearing infrequently at the edge of his vision, they slowly increased in frequency and intensity. Then he began to make out figures in the flashes. They appeared to be biped humanoids, running in some fashion.

This continued for a few seconds. The figures in the light continued to flash. Then color began to leak into his sight. Slowly, the background shifted to a light blue, reminiscent of the Coruscant sky. Buildings emerged, and Sidious soon realized he _was_ looking at Coruscant.

The figures suddenly morphed into Imperial Stormtroopers, the blue markings on their armor identifying them as members of the elite 501st.

They were in a tight formation, marching along a platform of some sort. This continued for a total of 5 seconds. With no warning, red blaster bolts emerged from the other side of the platform. The stormtroopers were mercilessly cut down, one after another. None of them remained after a few volleys.

Another platoon of troopers ran out of the platform's turbolift, taking up positions and trying to hold off their assailants.

Just then, the as-of-yet unknown attackers came into view. Sidious found himself astonished to be looking at a large group of B2s marching across the landing platform. They marched ruthlessly, ignoring all losses.

Sidious found himself slip even further into the force. The B2s shimmered briefly, then with a blinding flash, were replaced with a group of tough-looking militia, clothes in tatters. The militia continued fighting, taking several losses, but advancing all the time, and for every one that died, two stormtroopers went down with them.

With another flash, the rugged militia were replaced with the most confounding group yet. He found himself watching a group of stormtroopers fighting _another group of stormtroopers_! The two opposing sides appeared evenly matched; both taking equal losses, and both holding their ground.

And with another flash, he found himself on a desert world, with a garrison of stormtroopers fighting off a group of B2s and destroyer droids. Then he was in a humid jungle, watching stormtroopers and militia fight it out.

He continued jumping, from planet to planet. It went faster and faster, until he could no longer discern individual planets. He visited several hundred worlds in the span of a few seconds. But through all the jumps, one thing was the same.

Imperial Stormtroopers fighting off an assault.

Then, in one, bright, prolonged flash, it all disappeared. Sidious was back in the chamber, like none of it had ever happened.

With a small sigh, Sidious began to puzzle through the message the force was sending him. In all the images, there were stormtroopers fighting off an attack of some sort. There had been three individual groups visible. The B2s, that obviously represented the threat posed by Grievous and his army.

Then there was the militia. Perhaps that could represent the masses of citizens who could rise up if the Empire lost favor with the general public? Or the rebels that would undoubtedly rise at some point in his reign.

But what of the stormtroopers? The third party he had seen were squads of Imperial Stormtroopers assailing Imperial holdings. What did that mean?

Perhaps a civil war was brewing? However unlikely, it was possible. If he wasn't careful, he could very well end up with a galactic civil war on his hands. Or perhaps the stormtroopers weren't actually Imperials, but impostors? An enemy group could easily get their hands on the armor and blasters, and the mannerisms were easy enough to imitate.

If they were real troopers though, what could cause them to rebel? The cloned portion of the army was undyingly loyal to him, thus he couldn't expect any trouble from them. The enlisted soldiers, however, could not have their loyalty guaranteed. Sidious might have to do something about them.

But no matter what, a policy change was in order. The Empire was still newborn, and couldn't face any large revolts for awhile yet. It lacked the stability required for that issue.

It appeared he would have to become more lenient and forgiving with just about everything. Less taxes, less recruitment, and smaller armies and navies. It pained him to set back the plans by what would probably amount to years, but it appeared necessary for the survival of the Empire.

The Jedi were becoming a factor again, as well. They had already gotten quite a bit of breathing room with the whole Grievous crisis. Weakening the military would open the door for the survivors of the purge to resurface. While normally, he might have considered this a good thing, having to face down dozens of Jedi attackers with an already decreased military did not seem like a good idea. He would simply take too many losses for an insufficient number of Jedi deaths.

He would need a way to keep the surviving Jedi in line. ISB and COMPNOR could handle the situation for awhile, but eventually they wouldn't have the resources or manpower required to track down and kill Jedi, in addition to their other duties. He needed a special organisation, one devoted solely to finding and eliminating Jedi.

Such a group would be nearly invaluable in other situations, as well. Catching criminals, finding targets, Sidious could even use them to gather evidence that would allow him to blackmail people, and further his own power.

But he would need to find the proper personnel for such an organization. Beings who loved intrigue and manipulation, yet were undyingly loyal to him and could hold their own in a fire-fight. And the number of people with such traits was discouragingly low.

He would find enough, but it would take time. And time was one of the few commodities he did not have in abundance. This issue would require further meditation.

For now, however, he would need to order the military and other agents to be more lenient, and allow the imperial systems to have a longer leash. And so, somewhat reluctantly, he rose through the tunnels, took his secure airspeeder up to the temporary palace, and entered his keycode into the holoprojector.

The message he recorded would be broadcasted to the Imperial military and intelligence agencies, as a whole, within an hour.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N  
****Hey, look at that! I actually released a chapter on time! It is possible!**

**On a more serious note, thank you guys for the support recently. You've been incredible! It's nice knowing there actually people reading this, and I'm not just talking to myself here. Because that would be kind of bad, you know? Anyway, be prepared for round 2 very, very soon...**

**And remember when I said I don't own Star Wars? Yeah? Well, guess what. I still don't.**

Soundproofing in Imperial Star Destroyers was not the best. As much as a chair dragging could be heard in the adjacent rooms and halls. Most personnel serving on a destroyer hated the fact, as the constant noise made sleep nearly impossible.

It was because of these uninsulated walls that the Stormtroopers and officers near Communications Control B, Deck 5, Forward Section 1 were shaking in their boots. For in truth, it's not hard to hear an angered Sith Lord, even when the surrounding walls _are_ properly insulated.

"Master," Lord Vader was saying, quite loudly, and with obvious frustration in his voice, "If I cannot initiate an orbital bombardment, I will have to completely redesign our plans. It will be much more difficult to inflict serious losses on his forces on the surface."

The hologram of Darth Sidious nodded slightly. "I understand the problems this will impose on your mission, Lord Vader. But is is necessary for the continuation of our rule. If the Empire is too harsh on the common beings of the galaxy, they will rise up. We could trigger a civil war.

Reluctantly, Vader bowed at the waste from his kneeling position. "I understand, master."

Sidious's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure you do. I shouldn't need to remind you that the Empire is still newborn. And it was born sickly; an inheritance of its corrupt predecessors. The populace of the galaxy still reel from the aftermath of the Clone Wars. If we place too much pressure on them, they will feel cornered. And a cornered animal is always the most dangerous.

"We are at a crossroads, Lord Vader. There are many paths that could branch out of our current situation. Many of them are counter-productive for our plans. What the future holds, even my powers of foresight cannot say. Tread lightly. I will expect your report in 24 hours. Farewell, Lord Vader."

With a soft click, the projector powered down, the blue ghost of Darth Sidious fading rapidly.

Groaning softly, Vader rose from his kneeling position. Now how was he supposed to eliminate the turbolaser batteries and military vehicles on the surface? The base-delta-zero operation would have made it far easier to cover their backs, without having to watch for fighters attacking from the planet.

Besides collateral damage, which, admittedly, could include several thousand, the civilian population of Atrivis VII would have ample time to evacuate. A full base-delta-zero could take anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour to complete, depending on the size and mass of the world in question. Atrivis VII was probably somewhere around the 30 minute mark.

Yet why did Sidious insist on being lenient with such insignificant beings? The only thing Atrivis VII had to offer was some precious ores, which were completely unneeded. The Empire got plenty of metals from other worlds in its control. So what else was there? An old Sith shrine Sidious didn't want destroyed? Some ancient super-weapon, having lied dormant since the Mandalorian Wars?

Then it hit him. Could Darth Sidious... be afraid? Could he be scared of something? Was the Empire really so weak that they couldn't afford to upset the civilian populace, even in the slightest?

Of course, this line of thought raised many, many questions. Who was Palpatine truly afraid of, the common beings of the galaxy, or some greater power Vader didn't know of? Was this just a test for Vader of some sort?

Could he take advantage of this?

Sidious had purposefully weakened the Empire, and unwittingly given Vader an opening. He could quickly and quietly gather support, then, with a bit of luck, perform a coup. Then all the power in the galaxy would be his...

For several seconds, he had to admit he was tempted. Oh, so very tempted. But, thinking it through, he saw that such a strategy was fruitless. One move of treachery on his part, and Sidious could have him replaced in a heartbeat. No question about it.

Had he still been whole, without the limiting life-support suit he was forced to wear, he might have attempted it. He could have even been successful. But because of this suit, because of _Obi-Wan_, he was limited. Only a fraction of the power he used to have was available to him now. And without the suit, he would be dead in minutes.

So he was left with no option but to obey, and plan a revised strategy. And he would do so to the best of his ability.

All because he, Darth Vader, was a slave. Not to the empire, not to his suit, not even to Sidious.

He was a slave to the Dark Side. A slave to fear, to anger, to hatred, to pain, and to death.

And he didn't even know it.

* * *

Ever since Order 66, Commander Appo been entirely confused. In the events following his promotion to Commander, and taking the lead of the famed 501st, he had witnessed first-hand the rise of the Empire. He had even taken part in some of its defining moments.

Operation: Knightfall was the most obvious of those events. He had led the 501st in the storming of the Jedi Temple, executing hundreds of the traitors. He couldn't forget it; the leg wounds he had sustained during the operation still bothered him.

Even now, two months after the event, he couldn't figure out what the Jedi order had done to be deserving of such a brutal punishment. Excluding Lord Vader, of course, most Jedi he had worked with turned out to be quite agreeable, and didn't seem the type to go AWOL. General Kenobi, Commander Tano, they all had their flaws, but were generally quite likable.

Not Krell, though. That man had been a tyrant, a traitor, and a lying bastard, through and through. From his admittedly limited experience with Jedi, most of them seemed undyingly loyal to the Republic. But if there were more like Krell, which could be entirely possible, had _some_ of them turned traitor? Then the Emperor could have initiated the order in retaliation and self-defense.

Whichever party's fault, it was none of his concern. He was a clone, in command, and had to remain loyal to the Imperial cause. There had been rumors recently about a decrease in military funding. If they were true, he didn't know what it would mean for his career. Sent back to Kamino for genetic recycling, like he had feared before the war? It could really be anything.

Right now, he needed to focus on preparations for the coming battle. In less than two hours, they would exit hyperspace, then all hands would be at battle stations. Before then, ammunition had to be loaded, armories had to be cataloged, training drills had to be overseen, and the final report would be made to Lord Vader.

Appo had no idea what was coming after the battle. It could very well be his last mission for the Empire. But whatever happened, he was glad to have one last go at it with his C.O.

* * *

It was 0500 when the attacking fleet exited hyperspace. It was right outside a small nebula, having electro-magnetic properties that messed with any sensors happening to be looking that direction.

The four ISDs reoriented themselves, pointing inwards, towards Atrivis VI's moon. Having arrived at the end of the graveyard shift, when organics were nearly falling asleep in their chairs and droids needed a recharge, Vader was hoping they wouldn't notice the disturbance that would be present for a few seconds during their dash to the moon.

During a particularly intense surge of electromagnetic activity, the four ships surged forward as one, breaking clear of the nebula and heading for the nearby planetoid.

In the several tense seconds before they entered orbit on the far side of the moon, it seemed no-one saw them. No shots were fired, no starfighters were launched, and no evasive maneuvers were required.

All four destroyers entered the moon's massive gravitational pull without a hitch. The ore in its crust would shield them from any sensor scans for the next 24 hours, until their spinning motion brought them into view of Atrivis VII. The fleet had until then to strike if they wanted to keep the element of surprise. And they most certainly did. It was one of their biggest advantages.

And so they waited.

An hour passed. Nothing had changed since their arrival.

Two hours. One ship, a _Tartar_-class partol vessel, edged out slightly further than the others. According to Dence's information, it was doing a regular sensor sweep of the system. Nothing to worry about.

By the time the fifth hour had left them, the _Tartar_ once again moved out. That, too, matched the schedule Dence provided.

At the eight hour, it happened again. This time, however, it appeared different. It wasn't just the _Tartar_ that moved out. This time, it brought a _Victory_-class and a pair of _Acclamator_-IIs along with it. The group broke orbit, heading towards the gas giants that lined the outer orbits.

Vader, with a sinking feeling, knew what this was. Dence had warned that at a random point every 24 hours, a patrol would head out, just in case there was something in the system sensors couldn't detect. Like there was right now.

He had to think fast. If the patrol blew their cover, they would find themselves facing the entirety of Grievous's fleet in a very disadvantageous position. But what to do? What to do that didn't involve something foolish?

The fleet could strike now. He still had the element of surprise, and four ships were away from the planet. But they would come back, then box him in. It wouldn't work, unfortunately.

Turning around, it appeared the patrol had finished their sweep of the outer gas giants, now headed for the inner worlds. They would see the hiding fleet in seconds. One thing was for sure, they needed to do _something_, quickly.

What if they were destroyed? He could make it look like an accident, perhaps even lure them into the gravity well of the moon. It would be a tad suspicious, but it was the only option available that wouldn't result in their immediate destruction.

Signalling the fleet, he had all four ships, minus one, move into the point that would delay the fleet's discovery the longest. He then had Atzir, on the remaining ship, move into a point where instead of his full sensor data, they would just see a ghost ship.

It appeared to be working. The ships, on alert instantly, quickly abandoned their investigation of a nearby meteor. Advancing cautiously, they saw the ghost disappear behind the moon's gravity well.

All four of them quickly gave pursuit. Somewhat recklessly, one of them, an _Acclamator_, rounded the moon before all of his friends, just in time to see four Imperial Star Destroyers advancing towards him. The captain clearly panicked, attempting to turn away from the imposing sight.

He went completely wrong way.

The ship, with the bridge crew panicking and probably terrified out of their minds, turned core-ward. That oriented him at a 360 degree angle of the moon, meaning his engines were oriented the _opposite_ way they needed to be in order to prevent being captured by the immense gravitational pull of the moon.

Approaching at something resembling terminal velocity, the _Acclamator-II_ plunged nose-first into the moon. For several seconds, it descended into the planetoid's weak atmosphere. Then with a bright flash, it impacted with the surface. Once the glare subsided, nothing was left except for some wreckage and fragments of hull.

The _Tartar_, _Victory_, and remaining _Acclamator_ began to round the moon, showing far more caution than their late counterpart. Vader activated the jamming signals, then waited, to see if they would make a move.

The _Tartar_-class, being faster and smaller than its counterparts, was the first to enter visual range. Immediately upon seeing the ISDs waiting for it, the ship quickly turned around, and unlike its late counterpart, keeping itself free from the moon's immense pull. Unfortunately for the _Tartar_, the remaining two vessels were coming into range. All three had to initiate an all-stop to avoid collision, leaving them in a precarious position. Too much thrust in any direction would result in a sudden tumble through the atmosphere nearby.

Standing on the bridge of the _Exactor_, Vader knew he had to take advantage of their confusion and precarious situation. "Helm," He queried, "How fast can we reach them at ramming speed?"

The officer at the helm ran a few calculations. "Within twenty seconds, Lord Vader. Allowing for gravitational margin of safety, of course. However, we can shave at least five seconds off of that time if we deactivate the safeties. We should be fine for such a short burst."

Vader gave the go-ahead. "Don't destroy them. Just force them down into the moon." The _Exactor_ accelerated briefly, then coasted to within 500 meters of its targets. Then another quick burst emitted from the sub-light drives.

With a sickening vibration, the _Exactor_ connected. It hit the _Tartar_-class first, sending it spinning out of control. It hit the atmosphere at a 90 degree angle, inflicting massive damage on the lower decks of the ship. Then it broke through, the pull accelerated them to smash ceiling first into the surface, reminiscent of the _Acclamator_'s crash just a minute earlier.

The _Exactor_ continued onward, striking a glancing blow to the _Victory_-class' bow. Its mass greater than that of the _Tartar_, the ship nearly recovered from the damage. And it would have, if the overcompensation on the part of its helmsman didn't bring the bow directly back in the _Exactor_'s path.

The ship spun sideways, and nearly left orbit before gravity claimed it. Like the two ships before it, the _Victory_ spun downwards into the moon.

The second_ Acclamator II_-class was the final ship remaining. Being slightly further away from the_ Exactor_ than the other vessels, it had just enough time to swing around and dodge the incoming ship. The _Exactor_ missed it, but just barely.

The _Acclamator_, taking advantage of that, went in the opposite direction the _Exactor_ was headed. It nearly made it, but clearly forgot, or perhaps never realized, on _very_ important detail.

There were three other Star Destroyers whom had never made an attempt to ram.

All three destroyers advanced as one, forming an impenetrable screen of Imperial metal. The _Acclamator_ desperately went full reverse, but the Destroyers continued advancing, closing the distance between the two sides every second.

Finally, there was no more time to backtrack. The central destroyer impacted with the _Acclamator_'s bridge, killing anyone there instantly. Its nerve center gone, the ship simply went where force and gravity took it. Which, in this case, happened to be the moon.

The ship rocketed down, and eventually joined its three companions on the surface.

With a sigh, Vader knew they had to strike now. Grievous had just lost four ships to an unknown source, and wouldn't stop until he found the reason. And he wouldn't accept that all four vessels had simply wandered into the moon's gravity well for no clear reason.

The attack had to happen when they still had surprise on their side, otherwise they would have absolutely no chance. Waving the comms officer over, he said, "Tell the other Captains to make their final preparations. We attack in fifteen minutes."

The man made a move to leave, but Vader held him. "Oh, and tell them they did well with that runaway _Acclamator_. Our situation would have been very nasty had it escaped."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N  
****Bloody hell... I'm so sorry I kept you guys waiting for such a large amount of time. Over a month... I feel terrible. I had a massive amount of schoolwork, and I had writers block for awhile on top of that. So I present to you a very (And I mean _very_) long overdue chapter 22. I have chapter 23 started, and will hopefully have it released soon. Apologies once again.**

**EnsignRicky**

It was just past 1300 when Grievous got the call. He was working on some of his much despised paperwork, at the moment trying to work out how to best increase B2 production. He truly hated the stuff, as boring and tedious as it was. If he could, he would have handed it off to some businessperson, who would be better accustomed to such things.

But, unfortunately, none were available, and he could hardly trust one of the Imperial captains he had bribed or threatened into service. As such, he was in a very bad mood when the comm chimed. "General?" Came the voice of a B1 over the speakers. "Uh, General, sir? Hello? Are- are you there?"

"What?" He said, nearly shouting. He probably scared the poor thing to death in the process. There was momentarily some loud crashing on the other end, before the droid continued.

"Well, sir. We have... a situation. The daily patrol hasn't reported in. They're nearly a half hour overdue. The _Rebound_ reported seeing something behind the moon of Atrivis VI. They went to see what was going on, but haven't been heard from since."

Well, something had to have happened. Four ships didn't just disappear without a trace. There must be something going on, out behind the moon. "Send out another patrol. Include at least one of the ISDs, and see what happened to them. I'll be along shortly."

The droid responded almost instantly. "Yes, sir. I'll have a shuttle warmed up for your ascent."

The transmission ended, leaving the General alone with his paperwork. He resumed writing, listing possible ways to increase the number of droids he had at disposal. Perhaps if he increased conveyor belt capacity...

The comm chimed again. Growling in annoyance, Grievous reactivated the unit. "What now?"

The droid's voice re-emerged from the sound systems. "Sir, there's... something headed towards the planet. Four triangular shapes. Sensors have identified them as ships. Unconfirmed if they're friendly."

"Can you identify the model?"

"Negative. It appears to be a Kuat Drive Yards design. Sensors can't make out any more than that."

"Transfer the image here. I want a look at it." A dark, slightly distorted image appeared on Grievous's monitor. They were definitely Imperial-made. The distinctive triangular design couldn't be missed, even with such a low quality image.

"What were the models sent out for the patrol?" He said, after checking to make sure the comm. was still open.

The droid took a moment to respond, probably checking records on his end. "There were four ships, sir. One _Tartar_-clas patrol cruiser, a pair of _Acclamator II_s, and a _Victory_ as well."

Alarm bells instantly went off in Grievous's mind. Those four ships had massive differences in size and design. The _Victory_-class would appear like a miniature version of the Imperial Star Destroyers, while the _Acclamator_s were even smaller, and more rounded. The _Tartar_ patrol ship didn't even have the trademark triangular hull of Kuat designs. And looking once more at the monitor, the four ships slowly coming into focus were clearly a group of _V__ictory_s or _Imperial_s.

Grievous immediately shouted at the droid. "Send a message to the fleet. We are under attack! Order all ships form a perimiter at quadrant-" He paused for half a second, calculating the most advantageous position. "-At quadrant B38. Order the _Independence_ to stand by; I'll be aboard shortly."

With a hasty and somewhat startled, "Yes, sir," The droid ended the transmission. Grievous immediately exited the building, headed straight for the _Sheathipede_-class shuttle the comms. droid had dispatched for him. Along the way, the recently installed planetary defense turrets located around the capital activated, likely in response to a signal from orbit.

The shuttle burned itself into orbit at almost 800 kilometers per hour, near the maximum safety speed the shuttle warranted. If pressed, it could probably go faster. But doing so would run the risk of burning up in the atmosphere, something that obviously was to be avoided.

By the time the shuttle had docked in the _Independence_'s main hangar bay, the four advancing ships were just out of turbolaser range. Advancing quickly, it appeared they were headed straight for the starship formation that Grievous's forces were creating.

Just a quarter of the ships had reached the designated point when the firefight started. The devastating first barrage atomized a lonely _Tartar_, and a _Victory_ was permanently removed from the fight. The remaining three ships in formation sustained some damage, but nothing major enough to disable them.

The burning hulk of the _Victory_-class slowly drifted away, escape pods launching as the crew desperately tried to escape. A couple of _Acclamator_s took the crippled ship's place.

The four attacking vessels began launching smaller ships; TIE bombers approaching the formation with fighters providing cover. Point-defense systems began firing on the approaching enemies, small green lasers sending dozens of the small ships spiraling away into space. But not quite enough; groups of bombers broke through, unleashing their explosive payloads. A few of Grievous's smaller vessels succumbed to the assault, exploding in impressive displays of color and light.

By the time Grievous reached the bridge, the first of his friendly ISDs had reached the formation and entered firing range. The first opening salvo rippled across the lead attacker's bow, causing the shields to flicker for just a few seconds. Fire from some of the smaller ships broke through in those few moments of weakness, but not enough to cause serious damage.

"Status report," Grievous barked, assuming his position in front of the transparisteel windows that overlooked the _Independence_'s two hangar arms.

It was the Neimoidian sensors officer who answered him. "Sir, six ships destroyed or out of the fight. Primarily smaller vessels, but there was one _Victory_ crippled in the opening assault. As of now, eight ships are in defensive formation. A half-dozen, including us, have yet to enter firing range. Mostly the ships with more mass, like the _Victory_s and _Imperial_s.

"The enemy has been confirmed as _Imperial_-class Star Destroyers. They've sustained only minor damage to the lead ship, with some fighter casualties. It appears they are beginning to spread out in a semi-circle, and lowering their bows to bring all cannons to bear on our fleet. We have channels open, and awaiting orders, sir."

Grievous took a moment to visually survey the situation. What the droid said appeared to be true; four ISDs forming a semi-circle in a slightly higher orbit than his fleet. For now the planet protected them from the surface batteries. But they would enter range in a few minutes, and once that happened they would find themselves facing Grievous's fleet on one side and turbolasers designed specifically for taking down capital ships on the other.

The Imperial commander had no knowledge of the batteries on the surface. And he would soon find himself on the receiving end of a _very_ nasty surprise.

* * *

Belderone.

Oddly, that's what this situation reminded Vader of. The CIS attack on Belderone, which had occurred just a few weeks prior to the end of the Clone Wars. That made only... three months since Vader's turn to the Dark Side, and the fall of the Republic. How quickly time flies, and how so much had occurred since then.

Prior to Belderone, Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi had successfully taken Cato Neimoidia, the last of the Neimoidian purse worlds. Viceroy Gunray had successfully escaped, but he had left behind an old mechno-chair. That chair had contained invaluable information for the Republic, and had allowed them to crack a CIS communications code they had been after since the start of the war.

The Jedi had then intercepted a transmission from General Grievous, instructing Gunray to meet him for the looming attack on Belderone. That had forced the Jedi to choose between saving the lives of the Republic-loyal citizens there, or continuing to use the code to intercept enemy transmissions.

The events that had transpired were history now, but still, this situation reminded Vader of the situation the Republic had faced. He knew of Grievous's planetary turrets, and of many other strategies he may employ to ensure his survival.

But to use that information, and potentially destroy Grievous now, or to save it, and continue to allow Dence to monitor Grievous's actions and strategies? There were good reasons to do both. But Sidious wanted Grievous destroyed now...

Why not compromise and do both?

"Comm, have fighter wing 3 run a course that will bring them into range of the planetary turbolaser batteries. Do it discreetly."

The officer working at comms gave a brief word of acknowledgment, before issuing a series of orders to one of the fighter squadrons currently guarding the _Exactor_'s main hangar. The group broke off from the other squadrons loitering or exiting the hangar. Taking a long route, they edged around a cloud of buzz droids laid down by a passing _Vulture_ squad, before accelerating at battle speed towards the enemy fleet.

A squad of enemy ARC-170s, disengaging from an engagement with a group of bombers, approached the advancing Imperials. The rapid TIEs, seemingly deterred, broke off, and headed downward into Atrivis VII's atmosphere. The turrets, seeing the incoming fighters, immediately opened fire.

Most, if not all TIE squadrons have seven ships. A squad leader, an XO, and a second in command. The turrets, perhaps seeing in the TIEs' formation these three key members of the squad, or perhaps through sheer luck, managed to discern these key fighter pilots.

In a series of flashes, the squad leader, XO, and an additional two members of the group vanished. The remaining three fighters quickly scurried away, back up into the relative safety of the _Exactor_'s hangar bay.

That would provide an excellent excuse for keeping his ships away from the planetary surface. In addition, if it had gone as planned, Grievous would have no reason to suspect a thing. It was just a coincidence that the fighter squad happened to discover the turrets. Four lives was a small price to pay for that security.

Vader's fleet began redeploying. Now secure in the knowledge that planet-side was _not_ a good place to be, they could freely avoid the area around the planet without raising suspicions.

Another of Grievous's vessels vanished in a fireball of light. This one was a _Victory_, the large ship's destruction opening a hole in the line Grievous was trying to form. This was an opening that would be advantageous to use. The two _Tartar_ patrol ships adjacent to where the _Victory_ had been would be relatively easy to sweep aside. And the next closest ship was 10 kilometers away.

"Helm, move us towards the hole that just formed," He instructed, "Wedge us in. Prevent them from re-forming the line."

Giving a word of acknowledgement, the helm officer moved the _Exactor_ towards the gap. Around halfway there, it appeared Grievous realized what he was up to, as several smaller frigates broke off from their engagement with Atzir's destroyer, and trying to plug the vulnerable gap in the line.

Unfortunately for them, it was too little, too late. The only ships within firing range were the pair of _Tartar_s flanking where Vader hoped to go, and their laser batteries were woefully inferior to the flagship of the Imperial Navy. One was swatted aside in seconds, and the other quickly turned and fled. The poor sods inside were likely trying to escape from Atrivis VII's gravity well. At least, they were until a shot from the _Exactor_ crippled their main drive and melted half their hull.

Then, completely unopposed, the _Exactor_ stopped. Dead center of the battle line, sticking straight out like a stab wound to the heart.

One of Grievous's Star Destroyers had started to enter the fray. Approaching the _Exactor_, it began to fire on the bridge tower of the enemy ship, likely trying to destroy whomever they thought was in command.

Well, Vader couldn't have that, now could he? The ISD's turbolaser batteries roared to life, unleashing salvo upon salvo onto the opposing destroyer's shields. But for the first time, the _Exactor_ found itself facing an equal opponent. for each shot that found its target, one would strike the shields of Vader's ship, causing a slight vibration every time a bolt made contact.

It appeared that the battle would forever be a stalemate. Both sides traded blows, with fighters and bombers darting around in the no-man's land between the two behemoths. All of the remaining ships on both sides were occupied with the opposing forces, unable to aid in any way.

The _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer is one of the most advanced pieces of technology available, and is also one of the most impressive combat vessels built to date. With a crew and Stormtrooper complement of 47,000, it was manned by a number that wouldn't be bested until the completion of the Death Star. But for all of the class' incredible strengths, it does have a select few weaknesses.

One is the sensors blind spot behind the bridge tower. While not a factor in a combat situation, it could be a hindrance if searching for a small vessel. Another, while usually an advantage, is it's sheer size and mass. The vessel's incredible enormity can occasionally become a disadvantage if trying to manuever well, or come to a sudden stop. And the third weakness, perhaps the least known, but at the same time most dangerous, was its shield weak spot.

Located just in front of the bridge superstructure, there's a select spot where a well-placed turbolaser blast will completely short out the shield generator for just a few seconds. Few know about it, and fewer could exploit it. No-one really knows why this happens. Perhaps it has something to do with the angle of the bridge tower. Or maybe the shield generators are just a meter too far apart.

And so the two destroyers were completely even. Until a single, lucky bolt from the _Exactor_ struck the weak point of the enemy vessel. The shields vanished in a bright flash, and in the five seconds it took to reboot, Vader's ship did its worst.

Turbolasers ripped into the hull, destroyed several secondary systems, and just half a second before the shields restored themselves, blew the left half of the bridge tower off.

Flames taking the place of the rapidly dying ship lights, the behemoth began to dip downward. Gravity claiming its prize, the ship accelerated slowly. And the ship's descent cleared a path straight to Grievous's command ship.

"Lieutenant," Vader said to the comms officer, "Order Tzenketh to move his ship into the gap we're about to create. He is to let no-one through unless I say otherwise. Keep the gap open. Understood?"

The lieutenant gave a nod, then turned back to his console in order to send the message. Seconds later, a brief word of acknowledgment came from the other Star Destroyer. Drifting slowly away from its engagement from a pair of _Victory_s, it began moving over towards the _Exactor_.

And then, confident that Tzenketh would hold the line, Vader ordered the _Exactor_ forward.


	23. Chapter 23 - Interlude

**A/N  
Hello all. Now, as some of you are aware, I have been very busy lately. School finals have been happening, so I've just been having a _grand_ time doing those. But they'll clear up soon, and during the summer, updates should (key word: should) be regular again. I feel terrible doing this to you, but there's really nothing I can do about it. Sorry guys. In the meantime, enjoy this little teaser. Au revoir!**

Climbing into his airspeeder, Bail Organa knew that something was up. This most recent meeting in the senate... well, to say the least, it was very confusing.

The Emperor, in the last senate meeting, had announced a change so unlike him, Bail had wondered if the man in the senate rotunda was an impostor. But he was no impostor, and the change hadn't been some sort of cruel joke. If he was honest with himself, Bail would say he was still in shock.

The Emperor had cut military spending in half. It was contrary to just about every policy since the formation of the new order. Previously, half the budget was going into the production of Star Destroyers and recruitment of Stormtroopers. Now, according to the Emperor, those credits would be sent to other areas. "To better the lives and welfare of the common citizen," he had said. What exactly those changes would entail, Bail had no idea.

Now, like he always did on the journey he made daily from the senate to his apartment, he looked down. If only briefly; he most definitely didn't want to get in an accident.

Over the edge of the airspeeder, at this height, one couldn't see much detail. Up here, all the the privileged of Coruscant couldn't see the horrible changes that had been happening since before the war's end. Suffering and poverty were at record highs in the lower levels, and clone soldiers (Now labeled Imperial Stormtroopers) were seen at every street corner.

It appeared all that would change. Soon, if Palpatine had anything to say about it. But the big question on Bail's mind was this: Why had the Emperor cut military expenses? It was completely unlike him. So why had he done it?

Bail honestly had no idea. As one of the select few privy to the true details regarding the end of the Clone Wars (Of which most, if not all others either in exile, dead, or on the enemy side), and that Palpatine was actually the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious, Bail knew far more than he would have liked about their benevolent dictator. Yet he still couldn't figure out why Palpatine had enacted the policy change.

Thinking about it, now might be the best time to start a movement. With decreased military spending, the Empire would be significantly weakened on all fronts. While a more humanitarian empire was very appealing, Bail could not consent to it being lead by a Sith Lord, or a dictator. Not now, and not ever. And Palpatine was both. The Republic, he decided, must be revived.

Of course, he could be all alone. Most other senators who spoke out against the Empire had already been arrested, and most likely executed. All others had kept their heads down over the last few months, trying to avoid the same fate that senators like Fang Zar had suffered.

He would be crazy even thinking of attempting anything like this. And anyone who joined them would have to be just as crazy to jump in with him. Perhaps what he needed was a second opinion. Someone who could help him decide if this was really worth it. Right now, he knew of only one person.

Keying in the personal comm code and ensuring he was away from any possible listening devices, he waited for a response. Seconds later, he got one.

"Hello? Who is this?" Came the feminine voice over the speakers.

"Hello Mon," He said to the senator from Chandrila, "Good to hear your voice. Would you mind meeting someplace? I believe we have a lot to discuss."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N  
Finals are over! Update, update, update! This is a bit short, but thanks to all of you for your support. During summer, updates (and this is definitely happening) will be far less sporadic, and instead will adopt a regular schedule.  
I do have a couple questions for the reviewers out there, if you're interested in answering for me:**

**What do you think decreased military spending and a smaller budget will mean for the Empire? Will the rebellion occur early due to a weakened military? Or will Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Garm Bel Iblis not have the support required for a full scale revolt due to the general populace being happier with Imperial Rule?**

**Second, what do you think the odds are for Grievous actually tracking down Kenobi? It would certainly be difficult with the Empire breathing down his neck, but what do you think?**

**And finally, what do you think of the story in general? Go ahead, speak your thoughts. I can handle constructive criticism. :P**

**Thanks to all those readers out there. I never thought this little side project of mine would grow to 16,000 views and almost 50 favorites.**

* * *

There's nothing quite like an _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer. The things are massive, intimidating, and deadly. Even Grievous, standing on the bridge of the _Independence_, a mighty ship in it's own right, couldn't help but feel that small nagging worry in the back of his mind.

Grievous was a brilliant tactician in his own right, and if given enough time and a few more ships, could probably salvage the situation. But he didn't have any more time, and additional vessels were an impossibility at the moment. In addition, the destruction of the _Gemeni_ before his very eyes by a ship of equal strength highlighted an extreme weakness. He would never be able to know and control the Imperial ships under his command as well as the Emperor's officers.

The way Grievous saw it, he had three options. He could, however foolhardy it may be, stand and fight the approaching ISD. The odds of the _Independence_ surviving such an encounter were slim to none, considering relative strengths. The sad truth was, the _Lucrehulk_-classes weren't warships. They were modified trade ships. And as good as they may be at that job, and even as carriers, they were no match for war-designed vessels like the _Imperial_\- and _Victory_-classes.

Even if the _Independence_ did come out on top after the encounter, he would still have most of the Imperial fleet to deal with. Then, he would be captured, tried, and convicted. If he wasn't killed outright.

His second option appeared to be a retreat to the planet surface. While the turbolaser defenses and droid battalions would be a decent garrison, they wouldn't be able to hold out against determined Imperial besiegers indefinitely. The solution might buy him some time, but he would be unable to escape should anything go wrong.

That left him with one choice. Escape. As much as it pained him to leave the massive garrisons planet-side to face certain destruction, it appeared he would need to in order to ensure his own survival. The question was, where would he go after? Any fleet he had left would be worthless, if they remained loyal at all. Really, he could only count on the ships manned by droids to stick with him until the end.

What if there were a middle ground between the last two options? The garrison could deal a large amount of damage to Imperial troops before they fell. If he could trick the Imperial Commander into thinking he had landed on the surface, while in actuality escape with his fleet, it could buy him months of time to rebuild. Perhaps using his shuttle? The Imperials would have noticed it entering the _Independence_'s hagars, wouldn't they? If so, it should work beautifully.

All of these thoughts passed through Grievous's robotically enhanced mind almost instantly. Seconds after the _Gemini_'s bridge tower disconnected from the main ship and impacted into the hull, Grievous was already bellowing orders to his somewhat shocked bridge crew.

"Comms, send a message to the fleet! All ships to disengage and initiate random micro-jumps, followed by meeting at supplied rendezvous coordinates. You there, at operations! Order all fighters back to hangars, and prepare my shuttle. Have it sent to the capital building with a small escort of tri-fighters. No, I won't be in it. Just send it down.

"Gunnery officers, concentrate fire on that Star Destroyer's turbolaser batteries. Ensure they cannot damage us to any extreme. Aft shields to full, auxiliary power to the engines. All non-essential personnel are to power down and send all remaining energy to the shields."

"Surviving ship commanders acknowledge the message, general," The droid stationed at comms. piped up.

Grievous nodded. "They have permission to initiate micro-jumps at will."

The _Independence_ began its slow turn towards the hyperspace vector. Even with hundreds of small thrusters on a set burn timer, moving the several-hundred ton behemoth into position was no easy task.

Alarms chimed from tactical. "Sir, enemy turbolasers are entering range! 15 seconds to full broadside!"

The droid wasn't lying. The batteries on the very front of the ISD's triangular bow were lighting up, sending more and more red lasers towards the _Independence_ every second. Already, the ISD was tilting its bow downward to get a better angle.

A full broadside from an Imperial Star Destroyer was something Grievous wasn't sure the _Independence_ could withstand. Any damage would have to be repaired, and Grievous most likely wouldn't have access to a dry-dock after this engagement.

Something had to be done, quickly. He needed something expendable, something that would have to be destroyed eventually at some point. Naturally, the first thing that occurred to him was the expendable fighters streaming into the hangar bay. "Order all damaged fighters and bombers to initiate suicide runs on that Star Destroyer. Designate the bridge and turbolasers as priority targets."

It really was a magnificent sight. A solid percentage of the returning fighters broke off, and began accelerating towards the Star Destroyer. Whomever was in command of the enemy vessel quickly realized what was happening, and immediately switched from turbolasers to the smaller, more accurate point defense weapons.

Many of the advancing swarm fell quickly to the small cannon fire. But there were far too many, even for the armament of an Imperial Star Destroyer. The first few dozen impacted harmlessly on the shields, disintegrating into colorful blossoms of flame.

Shortly after, however, the particle deflectors protecting the vessel began to fail. In small sections at first, allowing one or two speedy tri-fighters to slip through. But then gaping holes began to open. More and more fighters slipped through, which in turn opened up more of the shield.

Soon, the destroyer might as well have just been without shields at all. Fighters pounded the hull, both with laser fire and their suicide runs. The numbers of fighters, however, dwindled quickly. Soon, the appearance of a cloud of gnats dissipated, and instead just a few fighters zipped about, launching small strikes on exposed sections of the hull.

But the fighters had done their job. The swarm had bought just enough time in order for the _Independence_ to escape. The _Lucrehulk_ completed its rotation, and with no delay, just before the pursuing ISD entered broadside range, jumped out of the system.

* * *

There was really only one way to describe the Generis System immediately following the brief, intense battle.

Chaos. Pure, utter, chaos.

Even the advanced _Imperial_-class Star Destroyers were having difficulty navigating the debris field now orbiting the planet. The damage the ship's computers had sustained certainly wasn't helping with that.

On the bridge of the _Exactor_, the crew nervously watched Vader. Though only having served the Emperor two short months, the Imperial hierarchy had already given him a reputation as a being to never, _ever_ anger. Lest they face the consequences. Many of the crew were already edging their way towards the turbolifts, desperate to evade the storm that was surely going to be unleashed any moment now.

One ensign in particular, the junior gunnery officer, apparently grew too close to the doors for Vader's liking. Without turning around, the black-cloaked Sith Lord held up his right hand.

The ensign, quite suddenly, found himself unable to breathe. Startling his colleagues, he threw his hands up to his throat, as if trying to dislodge some blockage. The rest of the bridge crew froze, startled and fearing the same fate.

Vader's mechanical breathing filled the room. "Perhaps, _Ensign_," The Dark Lord said, "You are unaware of the immense resources the Empire has put into this operation." The ensign's mouth moved slightly, trying to force words out.

"We redeployed four Imperial Star Destroyers," Vader continued, still not turning around. "We reassigned battalions. Removed much needed protection on important facilities. And let us not forget one other inconvenience... Two dozen Imperial vessels have been destroyed." He said, mechanical voice somehow much colder than usual.

The ensign, now on his knees, finally managed to force a few words out. "My... My lord... I- I could not-"

"I will not accept excuses," And with that, the gloved right hand squeezed shut.

_Snap!_

The ensign's body tumbled to the ground, with a strong sense of finality.

Finally turning around and looking to the petrified fleet admiral, Vader said, "I will contact the Emperor and inform him of our failure. Instruct destroyer captains to meet me for debriefing."

The admiral could only nod, still staring at the executed gunnery officer.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N  
So... Hello all. I'm not dead! That's good, right? If there's anyone out there still paying attention to this story... I'm sorry. I really didn't intend to take so long with this chapter. I encountered every writer's worst nightmare a few months ago. (Has it really been that long? Wow...) The writer's block found me, and wouldn't let me go. Still hasn't, to be honest. Just... blech. I can't think of anything to write, and nothing I do write seems to come out well. So I guess what I'm trying to say is... sorry guys. This chapter is short, and below par for me. I'll probably go through and rewrite it later. Really hoping the block goes away very soon. Enjoy this little tidbit.**

* * *

If Vader was completely, utterly, honest with himself, he was terrified.

Kneeling before where his master would appear in a few short seconds, he found himself wondering exactly what Sidious's reaction would be to the news. In the relatively short time Vader had known him, truly known him, as Darth Sidious, the Lord of the Sith didn't exactly seem the forgiving type. Vader just hoped Sidious was in a good mood today. If such a thing was possible.

The holoprojector hummed briefly. Readying himself, Vader mentally prepared for the coming confrontation.

With a whirr, a larger-than-life projection of the Dark Lord himself appeared in front of Vader. The projection, for reasons that he understood completely, consisted entirely of the Emperor's head, blown up to several times its actual size. The resulting intimidation in his subjects was something the Emperor enjoyed greatly.

"Hello! Hello, Lord Vader! Your mission was a success, I trust?" However hard Sidious tried to mask it, the invisible threat hanging off the end of that statement was all too clear.

This would be very difficult, to say the least. Sidious only used that tone of voice when attempting persuasion, or sometimes if he wanted to get a point across to someone closer to him than most. This would appear to be one of the latter situations.

"Greetings, Master," Vader said. "You are well, I hope. How goes your rule?"

The Emperor narrowed his eyes, suspicion clear. "No better nor worse than usual. Moff Tarkin and the other regional governors are still busy chasing Separatist holdouts. But let's not change the subject, Lord Vader. You _have_ destroyed Grievous, correct?" From the way Sidious was looking at him, Vader knew he was already aware of the answer.

"I... Grievous managed to escape, master. The mission was a failure." Just uttering the word _failure_ made Vader want to shudder. It wasn't exactly a word he was accustomed to.

Sidious sighed. "Please tell me you at least managed to save the fleet."

At least Vader could give some good news there. Straightening slightly, he said, "Damages to Grievous's fleet were less than expected. In total, 13 out of 24 ships are salvageable, though most will require a few months in drydock."

With a nod, Sidious pressed, "And the surviving crew members? What of them?"

"They are to be detained for questioning, interrogated and most likely executed for treason."

"A pity," The Emperor said, "Some of the Empire's better commanders were on board those ships. But we cannot allow treason to go unpunished, can we?"

Vader nodded his agreement. However much they might need every single vessel and crew member now, allowing traitors to flourish would do far more harm than good.

"Lord Vader," Sidious said, suddenly turning deadly serious, "There is another matter that requires your attention. As of now, hunting down Grievous is no longer your priority."

Recoiling slightly in surprise, Vader replied, "More important than ensuring the security of the Empire, master?"

"Since when has your concern been the _Empire_'s needs?" The Emperor said chastising manner. "Your concern would be better suited towards _our_ needs. I am dictating a large portion of your responsibilities to the ruling council and the regional Moffs. For the foreseeable future, you will target the majority of your focus on strengthening yourself in the force, and on occasion will carry out special missions. Do you understand?"

No. No, Vader didn't understand at all. He was the most qualified individual for this task, even in light of a couple failures. He should be the one to end Grievous. Not an insignificant fleet commander or a Stormrooper with decent aim. He started the mission, and he should be the one to finish it.

Sidious could clearly see the line of thought Vader was following. "You feel that my judgement is unsound," he said, "Perhaps even... unfair?"

"Yes, master," Vader said reluctantly. There was no denying it, the Emperor undoubtedly knew already.

The holographic Sith Lord's gaze darkened. "This... exercise," he said slowly, "Is only proof that you lack the strength in the force to defeat Grievous. And really, it is most concerning. We will both be meditating on this for some time, Lord Vader."

Vader was running out of time if he wanted to continue this mission. He needed to act, and fast. But what to say, what to say... Then it came to him. One little piece of logic that even Darth Sidious couldn't argue with. "Master, if I am removed from command, who will take charge of this mission? The captains in this little fleet I have can barely run their own ships. Do you really want to trust them with a task of such importance?"

If it was even possible, Sidious looked even more disapproving. "Then I will send in someone who has proven their competence. You should know when to simply accept the inevitable."

Shaking his head, Vader countered, "Getting another ship out here could take days. By then, Grievous will have disappeared completely. We will have lost him, likely forever."

A low growl escaped the emperor's throat. "You should know your place, Lord Vader," he said viciously. Vader couldn't help wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. "Very well. You will follow Grievous. You will hunt him down. And finally, you will kill him. I will send reinforcements to you, along with a relief commander. In the event they reach you and you have not killed Grievous, he will take command. Am I understood?"

Vader became a bit nervous at that last part. "Yes, master. I will not fail you again."

Sidious nodded. "See to it."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N  
Hello! I think I've finally gotten over my writer's block, at least to a certain extent. This one is a little shorter than promised, but I think it's good quality. I hope. :P  
**

**I have a couple things to say, if you're willing to stick around for a paragraph or two.**

**One is: Thank you, thank you, thank you for so much support for this story! Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine the incredible number of people that would read my little pet project. At last count, we have 77 followers, 60 favorites, and nearly 21,000(!) total views. In addition, this story was added to a community sometime in the past month, and we recently broke 80 reviews. So thank you guys so much, once again.**

**Second: On a less positive note, I realized, while editing this chapter, actually, I have created a continuity error for myself. So you guys know Appo, right? Vader's second in command? Well... he's meant to be dead at this point in time. There are several references the a "Kashyyyk Operation" in this story. Well, what I've been referring to is the final act in _The Rise of Darth Vader_. The error stems from the little fact that Appo quite literally loses his head towards the end. So... yeah. Whoops. Maybe I'll go through and change the name. Or maybe not. It is an AU after all.**

* * *

The galaxy is a populous place. The core worlds are known for their industrialization, the mid rim for its beauty, even the distant outer rim has its place, providing a large portion of taxes and materiel for the core.

But these are the inhabited worlds. The ones with the magic of life. Worlds with this gift are in the minority, indeed, it's only once every twelve light-years you find a world with any form of life, and sentience is even rarer.

So when the _Independence_'s hyperdrive failed 8 light-years from the Generis System, it really wasn't much of a surprise that they were, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Not the rather cliche, "If we can get it working, the nearest spaceport is just out of sight." No. Outside of the _Independence_ itself, any matter larger than a stray molecule was nearly a light-year away. Anything larger than a few meters was a whopping one-and-a-half.

Therefore, quite understandably, really, Grievous was upset. The engineering droid who had the misfortune of reporting the incident found this out firsthand, as his rather forcefully separated head could attest.

Currently, the majority of droids on the vessel were desperately working on the drive, hoping very much to avoid the same fate. Now, another of those droids nervously stepped onto the bridge. Approaching the clearly agitated General, a quiet, "Um... Sir?" escaped its vocabulator.

Without turning away from the viewport, Grievous growled, "Do you have good news, or are you about to die?"

The droid involuntarily took a step back. "Repairs to the generator are underway. We should have hyperspace capability again within a few days."

Grievous turned away from the viewport. Another involuntary step back by the droid. "A few _days_?" He growled. "Within a few days, Imperial vessels have a respectable probability of locating us. If they find us, they destroy us. Simple as that. So scurry along, and tell your superiors that if the drive isn't operational by tomorrow afternoon, they will find themselves relieved from duty. Clear?"

Even if the threat hadn't been aimed at it directly, the droid was still understandably disconcerted. It barely got out a strangled, "Yes, sir," before turning and almost running for the turbolift.

Grievous let the droid go. With an almost inaudible _hiss_ of escaping air, he turned back towards the viewport he had originally been gazing out of. All those stars out there... and so distant. If he could just reach one without the Empire knowing where he was, it would be an incredible relief. If that star happened to have a factory of some sort, even better. He could churn out droids by the thousands without anyone the wiser. Some subsidies from Baktoid Armour or the Banking Clan, and he would be set.

The Empire, however, knew he was close. Couldn't be helped at this stage. Honestly, it was near impossible to hide when you're flying around in a _Lukrehulk_ control ship. The things are massive. And since the Clone Wars, they weren't very inconspicuous. A former CIS warship couldn't exactly drift into the Bilbringi shipyards, after all.

That made priority number one, after fixing the hyperdrive and putting as much distance between himself and the Atrivis Sector as possible, of course, acquiring a new ship. As much as it pained him to willingly give up such a vessel, it unfortunately had to be done. It simply was too recognizable.

What ship to take, however, was the question. There were plenty of abandoned CIS warships out there, but that was a big part of the problem. A former Confederate warship would mark him as a target to Imperial forces. That was something he greatly wished to avoid. He needed something inconspicuous, yet able to hold its own in a fight. The problem was, there weren't that many ships that met the criteria.

Perhaps he could hunt down some pirates, and take one of their vessels? That could work, but he would likely have to take on a lot of them to get a decent sized fleet. No, a better option would probably be a _Dreadnought_-class or two. It wasn't unheard of for them to be in pirate hands, and his droids would fix the high crew complement problem. A couple of those would likely be the best option. Finding some would be the problem.

No matter what the future held, the top priority at the moment was getting the hyperdrive operational. The longer the _Independence_ remained stationary, the more likely it was that the Imperials would locate them. As he had told the engineering droid, they find him, they kill him. That, obviously, was to be avoided.

* * *

Moff Tarkin found that he was rather enjoying himself. Simply standing, staring out the _Executrix_'s bridge viewport at the battle beyond, there was, in his opinion, very little left to do.

The pincer movement he had employed worked beautifully, and the _Munificent_ frigate some upstart confederate owned was now in flames, with the rest of the enemy fleet destroyed or fleeing.

His outward appearance, however, betrayed none of the excitement he felt inside. Standing stoically on the bridge, gaze forward, hands behind his back, he was every image the high ranking Imperial officer he was meant to be.

"Ensign Dhar," he said briefly to the junior gunnery officer currently on duty, "Your targeting cone is drifting wide, recalculate and resume firing."

The Ensign in question nodded, gave a short, 'Yes, sir,' and proceeded to recalculate his firing vector. A few quick seconds later, the green turbolaser blasts suddenly shifted a few degrees to the right, quickly vaporizing several armored sections of hull.

Tarkin nodded to Dhar. "Well done, Ensign. Continue firing." No-nonsense, down to business, and just the right touch of respect included. That was why the crew on this bridge followed him without question.

He didn't instill unnecessary amounts of paralyzing fear in his crew the way Darth Vader did. Honestly he had never truly understood that. Why terrify the people who served under you, when the enemy forces out there were the ones deserving of that fear? A little healthy respect and deference, certainly. But constant fear of death as a result of the smallest mistake? That didn't make sense to him.

Darth Vader had always been an odd one. His past was as much a mystery as his identity. While he was an able field and war-room commander, Tarkin and the rest of the Imperial military had no idea (other than rumors, which Tarkin had never paid much attention to) where the Dark Lord had come from.

All he knew was that Vader had showed up as the Emperor's right hand a week after the war ended, with little to no explanation. The Stormtroopers treated him with almost worshipful respect, and the same was demanded of the officers. Any failure was... not tolerated, to say the least.

Though he would never willfully admit it, Tarkin secretly had a little game where he tried to pinpoint the Dark Lord's identity. In his one firsthand experience with the masked man (or machine, it was hard to tell), he had gathered a surprising amount of evidence.

A couple of weeks ago, about 15 days after the declaration of the New Order, before most of the Imperial fleet was busy chasing down Separatists, he had assisted Vader in the subjugation of Kashyyyk. The whole operation had been very fruitful, with several rouge Jedi killed, and thousands of Wookies shipped offworld to help with the DS-1's construction.

It was here that he had learned a great deal about the Dark Lord, and gained the most clues regarding his identity. Vader was clearly force sensitive, with his preferred method of execution making that obvious. He served the Emperor with what appeared to be a twisted form of loyalty, going where ordered and killing whomever questioned his apparent master.

Commander Appo of the 501st legion of Stormtroopers had admitted that something about Vader was familiar to him, shortly before the Kashyyyk operation. This hinted at Vader having previously served in the Republic military. The question was, what position had the Dark Lord occupied before the Empire? He couldn't have just appeared, unless he happened to be one of the pet projects the Emperor was so fond of. For all Tarkin knew, there were a dozen more Vaders hidden underneath a mountain somewhere.

So clearly a force user, a suspected past in the GAR, and a worship of the Emperor. That lead to a few possible conclusions that Tarkin always came to whenever he completed this exercise.

One, he was a clone or droid of some sort, created by the Emperor, likely as an experiment or prototype. Possible.

Two, he was the first of the Emperor's recently revealed inquisitors. Likely, considering the Emperor recently expressing concern that the standard grunt troops weren't capable of defeating the Jedi who had escaped the initial purge.

The third option was one that Tarkin had always suspected, but never had any real concrete evidence for. There was a possibility that Darth Vader, was, in fact, former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.

The force use, the Stormtroopers, it was all circumstantial. Nothing truly solid. But there was something about that man Tarkin thought was behind the mask that seemed familiar, somehow. He really couldn't explain it. It was just a nagging suspicion, but Tarkin considered it a possibility. Maybe, sometime later, he would gather enough data to make a definite conclusion. But not now. He didn't have nearly enough information.

The calling of the communications Lieutenant broke him out of his thoughts. "Sir! Moff Tarkin, sir! Transmission for you. It... the codes check out, sir. It's from the Emperor."

Tarkin betrayed no surprise, instead just raising an eyebrow. He didn't know what the Emperor might want. Nothing important had happened recently in his sector, and no transmissions had been sent to Coruscant.

Glancing out the window, it was relatively clear the battle, if it could be called that anymore, didn't require his attention. The _Munificent_-class was just a burning hulk, at this point. He had no real reason to avoid the call.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Patch it through to my quarters, I'll take it there."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N  
****Hello, everybody. Apologies for the long wait. I had planned to include another section in this chapter, but I thought I had made you wait long enough. I'll just put it as the beginning of the next one.**

**On another note, thank you once again for your amazing support. Never before have I enjoyed having my inbox spammed so much! You guys are simply incredible. Thank you!**

* * *

"I'm sorry, Mon, I'm just not sure this is the best idea right now. Palpatine's power is _waning_! I just think we should wait and see what happens."

"Bail, please, listen to me. Palpatine..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "He's a dictator, Bail. All the liberties he's taken, everything he _caused_... it's only a matter of time before he intrudes on our freedoms again. This is just a ploy, of some sort. I don't know. I'm just sure we should strike, now. When he's still weak."

And that, thought Bail Organa, was the crux of the issue. Mon just didn't understand that he couldn't publicly stand against Palpatine. The Emperor would _never_ willingly give up power. Never. And he knew that. But he couldn't openly stand out in the senate. Endangering his family... and Leia.

It simply wouldn't happen, not with a Sith Lord. He just needed to find a way to explain it, without revealing too much information. And more importantly, how he knew that information.

"No, Mon. Those liberties are slowly returning. Every senate session, more senators come around to our side. Soon, military action may not be required. We can _politically_ take back our Republic! We don't need to use force anymore!" Why couldn't she just understand? It would make this so much easier.

"Those people coming to 'our side', as you put it, will quickly cower and flee once any resistance to the movement is shown," The Chandrilan senator said, "You know most senators have no backbone. They cower to whomever they perceive as having more power. The corruption from the Republic isn't gone, it's just swept under the rug, out of sight."

This pained him. Arguing with his closest ally on a topic that they both agreed on, but he had to deny. All for reasons she simply didn't understand.

"Perhaps some will withdraw. But not all. Mon, think of how many will die in open rebellion. Isn't going about this quietly a better option?"

"Bail..." He was clearly trying her patience now. "Bail, what's happened to you? Before, you were one of the strongest advocates for this alliance. Now... now it's like you've been drawn in by his lies. What's changed?"

Organa had to stop himself from cringing. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way; he didn't want to sound like he had lost faith in this cause. Because he believed in it, he truly did. But now, he had more than himself to worry about. He had Breha, and Leia to be concerned with as well. He just didn't know what to do.

First rule of politics, tell as much of the truth as possible. "Mon, it's not that I've lost faith. I don't believe the Emperors lies. None of it. It's just... I have more to worry about than myself. I have a _wife_, Mon. And she's probably putting my daughter to bed, right now." _My daughter, one of the last two hopes of the Jedi order._ "Just... what if something happens to us?

"Don't tell me it can't. Speaking out publicly is a dangerous business, in these times. Look at what happened to Fang Zar, just a few weeks ago! He was assassinated, Mon, simply for expressing concern about the policy change at the time. On _Alderaan_! Right underneath my guards' noses, in the middle of a peaceful protest! We need to quietly muster support, and remove Palpatine from office. Alderaan has no military. Open conflict isn't an option."

Mon Mothma sadly looked on, shaking her head. "It won't work, Bail. I'm sorry. I despise the idea of military action just as much as you do. But Palpatine created these laws for a reason; he's not one to pass empty legislation. All these little laws, the seemingly meaningless edicts that barely get a mention in the senate... he's making it look like the military is getting smaller, while at the same time increasing his hold on the core and mid-rim. He's evolved."

With a dark tone, she said, "We can't stop him with words anymore, Bail."

Bail paused. Mon saw the hesitation, and added, "Think of the better future this alliance will create. For Leia. For the rest of the galaxy. Even if we die, it will be for a great cause. Others can tell her of what her father did for the freedom of all, and what he was willing to sacrifice. If it ever comes to that."

Lowered his head and letting out a deep breath, he admitted defeat. He couldn't win this argument. If he was honest with himself, he didn't really want to. Because how many lives would overthrowing the dictatorship of Palpatine's save, versus the sheer number that would be enslaved under his rule. He didn't even want to think about that amount.

"Alright, Mon. You... you win. I'll talk to Bel Iblis, and see what we can organize. You speak to our contacts in the senate."

The Chandrilan Senator nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll see what I can arrange. I'm..." She hesitated briefly, and swallowed. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Bail. I truly am."

"Don't be, Mon. What do you have to be sorry about?" He said, offering a weak smile. "After all, we're only committing high treason."

"If it's treason, Bail," She said, determined, "Then so be it. We're simply trying to take back our Republic."

* * *

One thing Moff Tarkin had noted about Star Destroyers was that they were unnaturally loud.

It only made sense. The things were behemoths, with nearly 20,000 crew members on duty at all times, and countless bits of machinery clinking and whirring away at all times. As such, it was a miracle that any sounds that might be heard were, fortunately, muted.

That was why Tarkin had to restrain a jolt of surprise at the sound of the holoprojector in the captain's quarters powering up. The sound seemed to unnaturally fill the space, especially with the Star Destroyer happening to be unusually quiet around.

The Moff rose from behind his desk, surprise stifled. Offering a small bow of respect and a polite smile, he said, "Greetings, my Lord. How are you today?"

Emperor Palpatine nodded. "I am well, Moff Tarkin. Is the room you are located in secure? Will anyone be able to hear us?"

Ah. So that was how this was going to be. No politics or pleasantries, just straight to the point. Very well, he appreciated that. Politics was something he had always shied away from.

"No, my Lord. All the appropriate security measures are in place." He responded, instantly slipping out of the polite facade and into his more natural and comfortable military one.

Palpatine grinned slightly beneath his dark cowl. "Good, good. Now, what I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. Inform no-one else of this, unless I give my explicit permission."

A nod. "Yes, my Lord. I understand what you're asking of me. No-one else will know of the existence of this conversation."

"Excellent. Now, you are aware of the situation that occurred on Coruscant a few weeks ago, correct?"

Oh, this was going to be very interesting. If Tarkin was right, then this would have something to do with that Jedi Temple break-in the holonet had been ever so quiet about.

"You are referring to the resurgent General Grievous, my Lord?"

"Correct. You and the other moffs are aware of the basics of the situation. General Grievous, previously assumed dead, has apparently marshaled a significant number of ships, and proceeded to start something of a guerrilla war against us."

"Yes. Lord Vader was in pursuit, I believe, as of last night. Was he successful in his task?" Though if the Emperor was contacting him about it, he sincerely doubted it.

Confirming his suspicions, Palpatine replied, "No. I'm afraid Darth Vader was... unable to complete his mission. That is where you come in."

Tarkin smiled. This was going to be fun.

"I expect you to take a relief force and meet with Lord Vader within the week. Redeploy the fleet as you see fit, but don't leave any tactical locations undefended. I'll provide you with the appropriate coordinates for the rendezvous."

Excellent. But he did have a couple of questions. "Upon my arrival, who should be in command of the force? Lord Vader or myself?"

The Emperor grinned. Oh, joy. He knew what was coming. Palpatine loved to set his subjects loose, and see who came out on top. It was all part of some big experiment, and Tarkin hated the whole process. The problem was, the Emperor adored it.

"I'll leave that for the two of you to decide. Just ensure that Grievous no longer poses a threat to our plans, understood?"

Tarkin bowed his head in a show of deference. "Yes, my Lord. Would you like us to send you the head, should it be salvageable?" Never any harm in a light joke, after all. Even if it was with one of the least humorous men he'd met.

"I believe your word will do, Moff Tarkin. Just be sure to burn the body. I don't want this particular problem rising again."

"Understood, my Lord. I'll have a report ready in a week. Farewell."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N  
****Hello, all. Sorry once again for the completely screwed up update schedule. I think I'll just stop making promises regarding releases from now on. I hope this longer than average chapter at least partially makes up for it. Thanks for all of your reviews, feedback, and continuing support. See you on the flip-side.**

* * *

When Dence arrived at the rendezvous point with the _Rati_, he thought he was prepared. Along the way, he had steeled himself for the outrage that would undoubtedly greet them. The limb-tearing off, bloody murder kind, that had come to be expected with Grievous.

So when all he and the rest of the limping fleet (Down from the original two dozen to just 4, not including Grievous) arrived in orbit of some long dead star, he and all the other captains were hoping and praying this didn't go south.

Surprisingly, the general didn't appear to be there. He was nowhere to be seen.

It was another hour before he showed up, just as Dence and the other captains were beginning to think he had abandoned them.

A comms. duty droid got his attention just seconds after the reversion to real-space. "Message for you, sir. Incoming from the General's flagship."

Giving a small motion telling the droid to carry on, Dence waited, expressionlessly, as the cyborg gave his orders. "All starship captains, report to your private quarters. Await further instructions once there."

Well... That was interesting. Where was the white hot anger? The rage that usually possessed the cyborg general, especially after a failure of this magnitude? Seeing him this calm was unsettling, to say the least. He supposed he had no choice but to oblige. Any attempt at resistance would get him killed. That, of course, was to be avoided at all costs.

He made his way down a few levels to his private quarters. A very uneventful journey, all things considered. A couple stray battle droids wandering about. Even if they worked for him, Dence still found them unsettling, especially after the war. They were one of the few things he could genuinely say he hated. Just mindless killing machines, really. At least the Stormtroopers were living beings.

When he finally entered his quarters, just two of the other five captains were visible, transparent blue holograms shimmering a centimeter off of the projectors. He gave each of them a courtesy nod, both seeming vaguely familiar. He thought he could recognize Lieutenant Vargo, a fellow ISB agent, in command of the _Jovilant_. Unfortunately, he couldn't be certain; 1/4 scale hologram coupled with the standard issue Security Bureau facial alterations made identification difficult.

Within 30 seconds, the remaining captains were visible. They all looked understandably nervous, occasionally glancing about their surroundings, looking for anything out of place. Dence found himself doing the same, partially out of habit, and also due to genuine apprehension. Something was up.

There was a whir, and another hologram appeared next to the other starship captains. The ghostly blue image of General Grievous quickly glanced around, identifying each of the beings present.

Lieutenant Commander Erek spoke up first, the distinctive accent of an Anaxes native making him easily identifiable. "Greetings, General. I you don't mind me asking, what caused your delay?"

It appeared that he was going to say more, but Grievous interrupted. "Silence. The nature of my delay is none of your concern. Now, if you would pay attention to what I have to say, it would be most appreciated. Please take a look at this star chart..."

For a few moments, Grievous explained some plan to regroup, and reform his little fleet. If he was completely honest, it sounded like a horrible plan. Far too many variables, too much that could go wrong. That would make it easier to thwart it, at least.

Dence prided himself on his attention to detail. He had some great observational skills, and spacial awareness. All good traits, for a field agent. Later, he would be thanking his lucky stars for them. They probably saved his life.

He was simply listening to Grievous's plan, gathering as much detail as possible for his next report, when he saw it. Just a little something out of place. Not too big, but just enough to be noticeable.

In one of the other captain's holographic figures, something slowly moved into frame. It was barely perceptible to his peripheral vision, and when he looked at it, he couldn't be certain if it was actually there.

But it was. It took a few moments to see what it was. A droid. With an arm outstretched, and something in hand...

Then it clicked.

That was a commando droid.

The thing in its hand was a blaster.

This wasn't a meeting.

It was an assassination attempt.

His instincts took it from there.

* * *

"Down! Everyone down!"

Grievous turned immediately to the source of the sound. That was one of the captains, to be certain. It was... Triberis. What the hell?

Oh. Damn.

The captain dropped to the ground, passing out of the holoprojector's range for a few moments. When he emerged again, he held a small hold-out blaster, and backed himself behind a desk.

There was a series of blaster shots fired off, coming from Captain Hooper's end of the transmission. A pair of commando droids appeared to have taken him by surprise. And ahead of schedule. Ahead of schedule! The unsuspecting man fell, slumped over on his caf table with a pair of scorch marks on his chest.

What?! What were they doing?! They were a solid fifteen seconds ahead of schedule! The idiots!

The remaining captains, outside of the already deceased and Triberis, who apparently had the situation well in hand, were just starting to get what was going on. They started taking cover, drawing sidearms, and began waiting nervously.

Waiting that didn't last very long. Within seconds, in a properly synchronized fashion, the door breach was performed in all three rooms.

The door slid open silently, and two commando droids entered each room, all looking confused as to where their prey had disappeared to.

Nearly as one, but not with anything close to the unison the final three groups of commando droids had shown, the captains emerged from their various hiding places and planted a bolt each in the faceplate of their attackers. One botched his shot, and it went wide, damaging the wall instead of his target.

All of the remaining assailants turned towards their charges, and opened fire. Two, including Triberis, managed to duck back behind their desks. One, however, the man who missed his shot and appeared to be mostly incompetent in a combat situation, received several bolts of plasma for his trouble.

Squeezing off several more shots as suppressing fire, Triberis propelled himself into a roll, coming from a crouching position to directly in front of his remaining assailant, where he firmly planted several shots into its faceplate. The other remaining captain, not to be outdone, (Were the projectors still active on their end? He didn't know.) executed a similar maneuver, if less gracefully.

The other captain (Minsk, his name might be? Probably Minsk.) cautiously opened the door, standing to the left of the entrance just in case there were any surprises waiting on the other side. Apparently seeing nothing, he stepped out of the room, and out of sight.

Triberis, on the other hand, after making certain neither of his attackers were still functional, took several large steps towards the now-overturned desk. He rummaged through a few drawers, placing a few random things in various pockets. Grievous couldn't see exactly what he was grabbing; his body mass hid that from the camera's view, unfortunately. Not that it would really matter in the end. He was facing down an entire Star Destroyer's worth of droids, after all.

Finished grabbing whatever the man thought he needed to survive on a ship full of hostiles, the captain turned from his desk towards the camera. Offering a mock salute, the man then held out his blaster, and fired. The projector went blank.

* * *

In total, the distance from the projector Grievous was using to the _Independence_'s main bridge wasn't all that far. Just the projector room, a rather short hallway, turn left, and there you were. That gave the (mostly) droid bridge crew around eight seconds to prepare for the cyborg general coming through the doors. They needed them after the rather disastrous failure of that unfortunate group of commando droids.

They were a very tense eight seconds.

He had, of course, ordered the murder of the Imperial starship captains. After the delay from the hyperdrive failure, he had come to the conclusion that he really, just couldn't trust them. The chance that one of them might be willing to sell him out back to the Empire, or, stars forbid, was actually an imperial agent, was too great. He was honestly surprised this many had shown up at the rendezvous point. The assassination should have gone smoothly, but somehow, it had been botched. He would figure it out later.

The General entered through the opening doors, pace accelerated with clear anger. He subjected every being, mechanical and organic, with a death glare, gaze sweeping across the room. Then he began giving orders. Remarkably, not one droid was harmed in the exchange that followed.

"Sensors, locate and issue permanent tracking on the two captains who have escaped. You should have an easier time with Triberis, he's the only living humanoid being on his ship. Order all available droids to converge on their locations."

He stopped briefly, having reached his usual position at the center of the bridge. "Security details, block off all available exits from the level they were on at last location, be prepared to reallocate resources as necessary. Sensors, feed the security teams that information as soon as it's available. Also block off all ventilation ducts, and be prepared to jettison the atmosphere as a last resort."

A few more seconds passed. No change. Grievous paced over to the sensor's console, hands clasped behind his back. "Have you located him?"

The droid gestured to a small, red heat signature on the screen, clearly visible against the light blues and greens of the rest of the IRT image. "Yes, sir. He's moving slowly, avoiding our patrols."

Nearby, the communications officer raised a hand. "We're patching his location through to the mobile units now."

Grievous nodded. "And Minsk? How are we faring with him?"

"Much the same," The droid responded. "Progressing a little slower, as we have to identify him from the rest of the life forms on board his ship, but we isolating his position. The data should be in momentarily."

Satisfactory. They should both be dead within the next few minutes, and he shouldn't have much more to worry about for awhile. Except for a significant portion of the Imperial fleet hunting him, of course. No big deal.

"Very well, carry on. Update me when you have something to report."

Now, one more thing to do. Time to call in the unit of commando droids who had botched the assassination.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N  
Hello, guys! So I did something interesting for this chapter... Let me know what you think. I'll go into more detail in a note at the bottom of the page. And yes, Pak Pak is the actual Neimoidian Language. Look it up.**

**Thank you so much for reading!**

* * *

Starship sensors are incredible devices.

They can detect a change in temperature as small as a tenth of a degree, they can track your location simply by the minute change in atmospheric pressure that comes with movement. Blaster fire is like a flare gun in an open field, and don't even think about lighting a fire.

All of this doesn't, of course, mean that they don't have weaknesses.

Part of the training regimen for an active ISB field agent naturally included methods to disrupt and confuse shipboard sensors. It would be foolish not to, considering the amount of time most would be spending on capital ships. A solid number of these techniques were designed to trick the sensors into thinking you were someone else, maybe altering body chemistry in order to be read as a different species. All of those would, unfortunately, be worthless on a ship with only one life form.

Dence would just have to improvise.

Probably the biggest giveaway to the sensors, in this case, would be body heat. A lone human against a backdrop of metal, durasteel, and more metal would readily stand out. There were a few methods of disrupting this, and blending in. He could go hide amongst some large heat source, but the closest that would be sufficient was a full six decks down. A bit of a stretch.

So Dence did the next best thing. He brought the heat to him.

Starships, naturally, require heat to sustain life. Without sufficient heat (or too much), any crew would either be wearing pressure suits or have some serious trouble flying. On Imperial (and former Republic) vessels, heat was distributed via simple radiators located at strategic locations throughout the ship. It was a surprisingly simple system. And Dence was willing to bet it was similar on the old Trade Federation vessels.

It took several minutes to locate the appropriate maintenance panel. The patrolling droids didn't help with that much. But he did find it, in the end.

After pulling down on the quick release, the panel popped off easily. Setting it aside, he peered in.

And, surprisingly quickly, found himself at a loss.

The writing on the various controls and switches was all in Pak Pak. It made sense it would be in the native Neimoidian language. It was, after all, a Neimoidian ship. But he had expected at least a rudimentary translation to be provided.

The ISB training hadn't delved much into language. In most cases, everyone who might be involved would be speaking Galactic Basic. Having to deal with another language altogether was rare, unless one was venturing into Wild Space, or the Unknown regions. Most agents wouldn't be heading there, and so the topic was mostly skimmed over in training.

Agents were, however, given rudimentary language lessons in most major trade languages. Dence wasn't entirely certain why Pak Pak qualified as a trade language, considering it was used almost exclusively by Neimoidians, but in this case he was eternally grateful.

Basic language skills did not directly translate into linguistic prowess, of course. Though right now he would settle for a simple translation.

Glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, Dence got to work. He only knew around half of the words thrown at him, but he didn't need a perfect translation. Just something related to heat.

The top seemed a good place to start. First command: _Activot forz fawa_. Something about force fields, probably activation. Below the little switch was a dial, with numbers ranging from one to ten. Likely field strength.

To the right of that was small, grey button, label reading _Con'franc Rum __Kompaktar._ Why there was a trash compactor for what appeared to be a conference room, Dence would never know.

In the center of the panel, a whole block of text was pasted on top of a black and white background. It appeared to be some kind of legal notice. Dence wasn't positive.

_Wahnin! Ekipment revy dan'grus. Mind yo hyead! Da Trad Fedarashun eez nut reponsable fur d'mage er deth. Consulta yo cohort befer opareshun. Donc chooze dis penel. Warenti vod eef bwasta chozt. Ranka yu._

And so it continued. Dence had the good fortune of finding something related to _het_ after just 30 seconds of searching. It was a little black nob, almost identical to the ones used on the Imperial vessels. In fact, it was identical, except for the language it was written in. Thank the force for universal heating systems.

Cranking the heat up to 37 degrees, or about the human body temperature, he could almost immediately feel the difference. Every second, about a degree of heat seemed to be added to the deck. In under a minute, he would be invisible to the heat sensors.

Grievous would probably try to fiddle with the heat for awhile, then switch over to a more direct form of observation. But so long as he didn't fire off any blasters, he should be nearly invisible.

Next up, he needed to get to a computer terminal. Preferably one that directly linked to the central brain core, but could make do with a standard one. The nearest one, as far as he knew, was around the corner, down the hallway, and the second-to-last door on the right.

Peering slowly around the corner, the coast looked clear. No droids in sight. At the very least, he had a few seconds. So he ran.

At this point the ambient temperature was at least thirty degrees, and still climbing. The heaters, it appeared, worked very fast. It had been all of 20 seconds since he set them to work. The temperature had doubled in that time. Honestly, if he weren't so busy trying not to die, Dence would have taken some time to figure out how the engineers did that.

He made it down the hallway without incident. No droids were present for once. Really, he was quite lucky. There had almost always been at least one smallish patrol of droids down every hallway.

The sprint down the hall took all of six seconds. Six seconds of running in an atmosphere rapidly approaching the human body temperature. Have you every tried running in extremely heated conditions? Even if for just a few seconds, it drains you. The heat, and the humidity, if present, can sap the strength of the strongest person. Then, if you're really insane, try running it in a military uniform. It's no fun, to be sure.

So Dence found himself slightly embarrassed to be somewhat out of breath, at a sprint that would normally be easy. There was no one around to see it, at least. As he slid into the room, no droids appeared. It was surprisingly quiet, if you disregarded the panting ISB agent in the doorway.

This room happened to be used for life support maintenance, before the living crew had been ejected into space when Grievous captured it. Now it appeared to be functioning as a makeshift storage facility. Either way, it was empty, aside from a small box in the corner and the computer terminal itself.

Speed was key here. As soon as he started entering commands into the computer, it would check for authorization. If Grievous had any brains at all, he would have revoked his access codes before trying to kill him. He could expect, at best, 25-30 seconds. Better make the most out of it.

Step one. Deactivate internal and external sensors. Easy enough, just send them into a maintenance cycle.

Step two. Remove the lockdown on the hangar bay, if possible. If unsuccessful, he would just take an escape pod.

Step three. Escape. Alive, preferably.

* * *

"Computer?"

"Voice analysis confirmed. Hello, Pollus."

That wasn't a standard ship's computer. That was a voice Dence had only ever heard once before, and that was at a technology exhibition. This ship had a SAL unit.

The ship's Sentient ALgorithmic computer, or SAL as it was more commonly called, a sentient onboard computer. For the most part it ran in the background, monitoring ships functions and all that. It would, occasionally, talk directly with the crew if it was required, or if it was just curious or bored.

What surprised Dence wan't that the ship's computer was sentient. The technology had been around for years. Just look at the trillions of arguably self-aware droids throughout the galaxy. No, what surprised him were two things.

One: That of all the ships in the galaxy, Grievous had picked one of a dozen ships that had been outfitted with the SAL prototype. The SAL program had been around since halfway through the Clone Wars, with a group of scientists trying to create more intelligent ships, ones that could run themselves in the event of bridge casualties. The project had transitioned smoothly during the formation of the New Order. Emperor Palpatine himself had publicly endorsed the program. Prototypes had been shipped out after the war ended, but the things were expensive, and as such were very rare. Dence was either very lucky, or very unlucky.

Second, the SAL unit had called him by name. His fake name, of course. But even so, he had no idea that this ship was being largely run by a SAL. So the thing knowing who he was came as something of a shock.

Best thing to do would be to act natural. Grievous must be using automated commands, and definitely didn't know that the vessel's central computer was sentient. Easily evidenced by the fact that he was quite clearly not dead yet.

"Well... Hello SAL. I didn't know you were on board."

"I was brought online 2 weeks and 5 days ago. One day after activation, I was transported and installed aboard the _Rati_. Several days after that, the _Rati_ was attacked by an unidentified _Lucrehulk_ control vessel. Captain Ferris ordered me to defend the ship. I did so to the best of my ability."

"I'm sure you did, SAL. Now, I need you to-"

"The atmosphere disappeared, and they were gone. Captain Ferris, Technician Harper. Even Ensign Lee. He would always talk to me on his duty shifts. Now they're all gone... Do you think I did something to upset them?"

Dear lord. This thing was like a confused child.

"I'm... I'm sure you didn't do anything, SAL. I don't think it was your fault."

It wasn't. The whole purpose of the SAL computers was to run ships. Their sentient nature made it necessary to teach them everything they knew. They would get the basics from a program, then learn from hands on experience. That made the _Rati_ a natural choice, a ship just in drydock for awhile, getting repairs. Plenty of things to learn, not much risk of anything going wrong.

Except, of course, when the unexpected happened. Things like supposedly dead cyborgs returning from the grave and waging guerrilla warfare. Only so much you can predict, after all.

"They were here here one second, and then they were gone. I don't know what happened. Now you are the only life form aboard the ship. Can you explain?"

Dence was painfully aware of his time constraint. A full two-thirds of his expected window was used up. Though he hadn't entered any commands yet, so Grievous probably wasn't aware of what he was doing... And SAL probably wouldn't be able to help him at all until he managed to get some semblance of mental stability.

He had a couple minutes before he needed to worry about droids.

"Well, SAL... they, uh. They're gone. I'm sorry." Computers liked directness, right?

"...Explain."

When they understood it, of course.

"SAL... you understand that humans can't survive in a vacuum, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, when the atmosphere disappeared, that was the ship depressurizing. They were all... sucked out into space. I don't think anyone survived, SAL, I'm sorry. I really am."

SAL paused for a moment, seeming to contemplate the situation. Then he came to a conclusion.

"They were my friends."

Dence didn't know what to say to that.

"I... I know, SAL. I'm sorry."

Another long, uncomfortable pause.

Dence, unfortunately, didn't have infinite time. He had been pushing it already, having this conversation with SAL. He had to act now, before any droids wandered too close.

"SAL, I understand that you're grieving, and I'm sorry I have to ask this of you. Do you think you could get me a hyperspace capable ship? Anything will do, really, so long as it's space worthy."

"Yes, I think I can you that for you, Pollus."

Dence breathed a mental sigh of relief. He was almost home free. "Thank you SAL. I'll head over to the nearest hangar bay. Can you have a ship waiting?"

"I have a _Lambda_-class shuttle available for launch. It'll be ready for you."

"Thank you." Dence went to leave the room, but stopped at the doorway. "SAL, listen, my name... my name isn't Pollus Triberus, alright? I'm an Imperial Security Bureau agent, and I'm trying to get back to the Empire. This ship has been compromised, and has been taken by insurgents. My authorization is A-31 26 15 Gamma. Anything you can do to help, anything at all, would be appreciated."

SAL paused again. "Authorization code checks out... Tanner. All sensors will be deactivated, records for the last half-hour will be deleted, and electromagnetic interference will be emitted."

Dence smiled. "Thank you SAL. I'll try to come back for you, all right?"

"I would appreciate that, Tanner."

Dence could now officially add Unstable Sentient Computer Counselor to his resume. You never know what you might learn with this job.

* * *

**A/N #2  
So what did you think? Yes, I know SAL is a blatant HAL 9000 ripoff. Yes, I know I'm now ripping off _two_ famous movies. But it makes sense, right? I was originally planning on just making an 'open the pod bay doors' reference during the escape. But then I thought, "You know what would be cool? A sentient central computer in Star Wars." I see no reason why passing the Turing test would be a problem for any droids in the Star Wars universe.**

**I hope you liked it. I can easily go back and change it to the original escape plan I had, if you think it doesn't make sense. I hope it was enjoyable for all of you. See you next time!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N  
****Hello, once more. Apologies for the hiatus. I was across the pond in Germany for awhile, so I was rendered unable to write for a rather long time. Sorry, guys.  
****In my deepest apologies once more for how late this is, I bring you something of a special chapter, for chapter 30, and in celebration of 150 reviews, a similar number of followers, and 120 favorites. This is the longest chapter I have ever released. (3,500 words!) Please enjoy, with both my apologies and thanks.**

* * *

The whole plan had gone to hell at this point.

This was supposed to be a clean assassination. Just talk for a few minutes, then have the commando droids shoot the lot of them. Instead, they somehow botched it, and now he had two ship captains (at least one was an intelligence agent, Grievous was positive) wandering about, evading kill or capture, and generally wreaking havoc.

One of them, Captain Triberis, (not his actual name, to be sure) had really made things difficult. He somehow flooded the whole deck with enough heat to render the sensors useless. The droids were now just patrolling around at random, walking blind, really.

At least one thing was for certain, he was being mobile. The patrols would certainly have found him by now if he wasn't. It should only be a matter of time. Even as an ISB agent, he couldn't fight against an entire ship full of droids, correct? He would be cornered at some point. Then he would be executed. Like originally planned, just a lot messier. Not ideal, but it would do.

"General?" That was the droid at comms. Someone must have _something_, at this point.

Grievous stalked over to the console. It was just a few steps from the centre of the bridge, and the droid could easily just tell him what was on the screen, but he preferred to actually see what was being reported to him. He leaned and started looking over the droid's shoulder at the screen. "Report," he said, in his usual gruff manner.

The droid gestured at the screen. There was a life form sitting in what appeared to be a closet. The signals from several droids were broadcasting outside, set up in various cover positions down a long highway. "We have Commander Minsk cornered in a supply closet. Two squads are standing by and waiting for your go, sir."

He nodded. "Authorization granted."

Half a second after the droid gave the all clear, one droid began moving up slowly. Given that they weren't just blasting the man through the entrance, it was probably made of some blaster resistant material. They would open the door, then blast him to bits.

At least, that was the plan. A few steps from the door, a blaster shot lit up the sensors. The droid, having no warning, let alone a chance to dodge, fell to the ground, beacon flickering and finally shutting down.

It appeared Minsk had a gap of some kind, and he could see and shoot through it. Well, stalemate then. They had all the time in the galaxy, the man hiding in a closet did not. "Don't waste droids trying to open that door, just call in some heavier weaponry. Get a rocket launcher if you have to."

Turning back around, he headed for the sensors console. The droid there quickly straightened up. "Have you located Triberis?"

The droid somehow appeared nervous. Quite a feat, for something without facial expressions, or, indeed, a face. It must have had something to do with body posture. "Well... no, sir. The sensors are nearly blind, and camera footage is hardly the most efficient method of location. He must have done something to hide his face so the recognition software wouldn't pick him up."

Wow. Alright, then. This guy was good. Or lucky. Probably a mix of both. The Imperial Security Bureau did _not_ mess around with their recruits. He wasn't even upset with the droids' failure to locate him; there was really nothing they could do. Well, desperate times, desperate measures, or so the saying went.

"Make preparations for atmospheric decompression. Vent the entire deck in 5 minutes, if Triberis has not been located. Notify the patrols."

The droid didn't even look surprised. Both the sensors operator in front of him and comms officer several steps behind him gave a nod, a crisp 'Yes, sir,' and began entering commands into their respective consoles.

Grievous turned to the viewport and looked at the Star Destroyer Triberis should be on. In exactly 5 minutes, he should be dead.

* * *

Dence was about halfway to the shuttle when he heard it. Just a distant clanking noise. Probably innocent. Even so, he stopped for a few seconds at a corner, listening, making sure it wasn't some unidentified droid coming to kill him. One could never be to careful in situations like this.

It repeated after about three seconds. Coming from somewhere behind him. It was loud, but sounded distant. Couldn't be a droid; no droid he knew of created a sound like that. So what was it?

There it was again. A distant grinding of metal on metal, only this time more to his left, rather than behind. _What?_ Well, either that was one incredibly fast droid, or it was something inside the ship, and spread throughout. His bet was on the latter. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.

Dence had the unfortunate hindrance of never having spent much time on a starship before. Sure, he'd had basic training on several Republic/Imperial vessels, but he had no real knowledge outside just that, the basics. So he was at a serious disadvantage when it came to identifying any anomalous sounds coming from the metal around him.

The sounds continued in their clockwise fashion, the same loud, yet distant metal-on-metal grinding. In front of him, then to his right, and finally behind him again. But that last one was different. Louder, and deeper. More final.

Realization chose that moment to strike, rather belatedly.

The grinding of metal had been safety locks disengaging. That last one had been the initiation. Grievous had run out of patience, and was trying to space him. He probably had just a few seconds before the atmosphere around him started disappearing.

Alright. Think! What could he do? _The e__asiest option is clearly just to accept it and die._ Thanks, not helpful. What could he do that _wouldn't _end in his death?

Most vessels designed to hold a sizable crew had little cabins littered throughout with EVA suits, right? He knew it was mandatory for ISDs to contain several on every deck. So where was the closest one?

He remembered seeing a storage compartment a ways back the hallway. At full sprint, he _should_ make it. The question was whether there would be any EVA suits inside. If there weren't, he was as good as dead.

It was his best bet, at any rate. Turning around, he sprinted full tilt for the closet. 20 metres. 15. 10.

At about 8 metres, he suddenly found himself flying. Every door in sight, and probably on the deck all flung open as one. The atmosphere rushed out, being sucked into the vacuum. Taking him along with it.

Dence had the 'good' fortune of being carried towards the door, rather than away from it. He only just recovered from the sudden flying sensation in time to prevent himself from completely missing his target. With a brief bout of desperate flailing, he managed to redirect himself. So instead of flying out into space, he slammed shoulder-first into the side of the jutting doorway. He felt a painful smack as he impacted, probably dislocating the shoulder. Still better than being spaced.

The force of the air rushing by kept him pinned to the wall for several vital seconds. He needed to get in that room and pressurize _now_, or he might suffer some irreparable damage.

The atmosphere was becoming almost nonexistent at this point. Following his training for situations like this, he resisted the urge to hold his breath; that could result in exploding lungs, which would probably be something to avoid.

He had about 10 seconds of consciousness left, if he remembered correctly. Time to move.

Escaping air had thinned to a barely noticeable breeze at this point. Dence stepped around his corner unhindered, and walked through the door. Frost was forming in his mouth at this point. He had to find the emergency lever.

6 seconds. Starting to loose focus. Where was the lever? The thing should be painted fluorescent yellow, for Force's sake! Find it! Keep looking! Where _was_ it?

4 seconds. Sight going blurry. What was he supposed to do, just give up!?

There! Some genius had decided to toss a storage crate in front of his precious, life-giving emergency release! He'd show the fool. If he could find him. And if he were still around to berate the guy.

Vision going black, he stumbled over the crate hiding the little switch. He didn't have the strength or state of mind to pull it. So instead, he slumped forward onto the wall, hoping his sheer collapsing body weight would do it.

He remained conscious just long enough to faintly notice the door slamming shut behind him, coupled immediately with the rush of a returning atmosphere.

* * *

Garm Bel Iblis was tired.

Wait, tired was an understatement. He had been tired since before he had invoked the old _Contemplanys Hermi_. Tired since the start of the Clone Wars. Since that first long meeting in the senate decades ago, if he really thought about it. Yeah, tired didn't _begin_ to describe it. He was exhausted.

Had been for a long time, really. It's incredible how much stress you pick up over the years from trying to manage a planet, and then helping to run a war. Its the sort of stress that accumulates. Always there, especially when its quiet. The kind that makes you think, W_hat have I done wrong? Was that the right decision? Could I have done any better?_

Really, after Garm had heard the announcement of the war's end, he had at first wanted to focus on things closer to home. Staying on Corellia, handing over his senate seat to a successor, maybe running for the Diktat office once Dupas Thomree's term expired.

Just hours, then, after he heard the news of the war's end, came the hammer blow. The Republic was gone, a brutal dictatorship arisen in its place. His worst fears of Palpatine realized. Everything he and others like him had fought for was swept away overnight. That was the start of the nightmare. Now, three months in, and he hadn't yet woken up.

Any reservations he'd had about continuing the fight were swept away by the end of the Emperor's Declaration of the New Order speech. It appeared, judging from the several conversations together, that Mon Mothma felt the same way.

Mon Mothma: fellow senator, Chandrila native, she had a very impressive resume, especially for someone her age. Her drive for freedom was admirable. Perhaps a bit too strong at times; she could easily make herself a target of one of those horrible purges.

Bel Iblis was taking some much needed time to himself in his apartment when the message came through. Just taking an hour to catch up on the latest news (AKA Propaganda) before his next meeting. Nothing too special.

It was from the secure line he had set up with Mothma after the New Order was formed. To be used only in emergencies, just in case. On that little communicator was just a couple sentences. 21 words. Just a few little sentences that would ultimately change the fate of the galaxy.

_Bail is on board. We are go. Grab TRUSTED support where possible, then meet at prearranged coordinates in one week. - Mothma_

And that was it. Open rebellion in one week. Get as much support as possible, then hope they weren't utterly crushed in the first day.

So much for staying home.

* * *

The Lord of the Sith was deep in meditation when he felt it. That was probably the only reason he noticed it as early as he did. Just a little tremor in the force. Not too big, identical to the little warning he usually got when some fool was going to try an assassination attempt in the next few days. He ignored it, he would deal with that idiot later.

But the little whisper wouldn't go away. For the next hour it wouldn't go away. Nagging at the back of his mind, and throwing off his focus to, surprisingly, make meditation almost useless.

He had given up the exercise entirely, and was well on his way back to the throne room when something seemed... wrong. His breathing, he noted, was oddly labored, his muscles tensed, and...

Then the force replaced the little whisper with a horrid screaming. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. And unfortunately, he believed he understood. He did. He understood all too well.

The last time he had felt this was when the Jedi almost discovered him too early, just before the war's end. It had taken the invasion of Coruscant to avert disaster that time.

Something was about to go horribly wrong.

Not 'oh, rats, foiled again!' Forget 'minor inconvenience.' Try 'complete and utter destruction of you and everything you work for, everything you stand for, everything you have any passion for whatsoever.'

He was, suddenly, at risk of losing everything. Somehow. What had happened? Where had he gone wrong? Had he inadvertently triggered his own demise? Maybe. Maybe not. But he had no idea what was going on. And that was something he always hated.

The meeting he was originally headed for now completely forgotten, he turned right back around and headed to the nearest meditation chamber he could find. It wasn't anything special, but that didn't matter. He just needed some quiet so he could focus for an hour. Keying for silence and _do not disturb_ on his comlink, he settled down in the centre of the room and began to enter his trance.

Finding his fear wasn't hard. That was somewhat worrying, he was truly _afraid_ of whatever was happening. Fix it. He had to fix it. Had to find the cause and _stop it_ before it _killed_ him.

He grabbed hold of the fear, took the ugly beast by the tail, and pulled. He stopped it in it's tracks, turned it around, and looked it straight in the eyes. Then he broke it. And made it serve him.

Suddenly, the haze lifted.

He could see. He could see... everything.

Much like the previous vision he had a little while ago, he was seeing futures. Possible futures. There were so very many of them flashing before his eyes.

Briefly, the fear stirred again, but he quashed it under his boot. He would not be undone now.

Unlike the first vision, however, things seemed much clearer. He was seeing more specifics, and was able to make out much more of what they meant.

He saw Coruscant. He was seeing Coruscant, that much was clear. He could recognize the view from one of his private throne rooms, this one at the top of 500 Republica. And up above him, that was... that was a dropship. An LAAT/i hovered above him, just for a second, until the doors opened. Then a seemingly endless stream of Magnaguards started pouring out. He counted at least two dozen that were somehow crammed in there. They leaped from their gunship, landed on the balcony, and started charging towards their target. Him.

Then just as suddenly as the vision appeared, it was gone. A dark haze clouded his sight, blocking the view of the charging war droids. A few seconds later, it lifted again.

And now he was in space. In orbit of a terrestrial world, it seemed, heavily industrialized. Fondor, or maybe Metalorn, or some other similar planet. And in orbit, he could see a trio of Imperial Star Destroyers. He was busy counting the number of patrolling corvettes, when suddenly, without warning, one of the ISDs exploded. A massive fireball ripped through the center of the ship, searing it in two.

Simultaneously, an entire fleet of warships exited hyperspace. It was an odd group, to be sure. A _Lukrehulk_ towards the back, a smattering of the old _Munificents_, at least 8 different designs of Mon Calamari warships, several groups of Correlian Gunships, even a couple of Imperial warships.

They all opened fire on the pair of remaining Star Destroyers without a second thought. The shocked operators didn't even have enough time to fully raise the shields. Turbolaser batteries opened up on the vulnerable destroyers, and within a minute, they were simply orbiting hulks. A few shuttles and escape pods made it off before life support failed, but the majority of people on the ships were regulated to the vastness of interplanetary space.

Just as rapidly as it appeared, the sight faded.

The next and final vision was the one he would remember and be pondering over the most. The world shimmered into existence again, and he found himself standing on his usual podium in the senate building. His lips curled in disgust upon seeing the vile filth once again. He could never stay away from the senate for long enough.

This appeared to be an emergency meeting, meaning something really big had happened. The idiots just wouldn't shut up about it, whatever it was. The talking was a nonstop roar!

Sidious felt himself lean over to where Mas Amedda stood, and began whispering something in his ear.

_Silence the fools._

Amedda stepped forward, and his undoubtedly amplified staff smashed on the podium three times. "Order! His Majesty the Emperor wishes to speak!"

It took several seconds, and a few more rounds of staff smashing, but eventually the senate fell quiet. Sidious was content to simply stand there and bathe in their fear for a few minutes, but soon all eyes were on him expectantly. He sighed. Here came the tedious part.

"My friends! My dear, dear friends!" He began, raising arms just slightly, to indicate a welcome to anyone who may be paying attention. "I am afraid I must once again bring solemn news upon you. Yes, yes, I am aware of the burden this must place on you. Believe me when I tell you it places an even larger burden on me." Sidious perked up. This really was big.

"I am sure most of you know of the dramatic events that transpired this morning. For those of you unaware, I believe we can spare time for a brief recap." If he wasn't already paying unwavering attention to what was coming from his mouth, he certainly was now.

"This morning, at 0730 hours, local time, the unthinkable happened. A group of senators formally announced their secession from the Empire. Exactly 10 minutes after the formal message was broadcast to this very building, an entire fleet of warships launched a terrorist strike... on the peaceful shipyards at Bilbringi. I regret to inform you of the 41 civilian casualties suffered in this unjust and unprovoked attack."

Cries of dismay and calls for their heads filled the loyalist members of the senate. Sidious watched in disconcerted silence. Separatist movements shouldn't have been able to gain any traction at all this early on. Everyone was still overjoyed with the war's end and the birth of the Empire; they shouldn't be taking the time to look at the beast that had actually risen in the Republic's place. This would require further meditation.

"Yes, I know, this is most disheartening. But rest assured, these... turncoats will be hunted down. The Empire will not tolerate these unjust, unprovoked attacks on it's citizens! I call upon all of you, good, loyal, Imperial nationals, and my friends: Use any resources you deem necessary from your sectors. Track _down_ these turncoats! _Hunt_ the traitors! Those who bring peace to the Empire will be rewarded! Let us earn, once more, our 10,000 years of safety! Our 10 millennium of security! Of justice! And of peace!"

Cheers erupted from the senate. It appeared they still liked the idea of a 10,000 year rule. (Not that they would last more than 20 in any situation he could think of, but...)

The vision started to fade to black once more. Before his vision went completely, he forced it to remain for just long enough to glance at the chrono, trying to see how long he had.

7 days.

One week.

Time to start purging.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N  
****Hello, again! Only a month this time, and a good 2,500 words! That's really good timing for me. Here's to hoping you like what I did with this chapter. Anyways, please read, enjoy, and review. In that order would probably be best.**

**They say don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm still waiting for a gift horse to walk up and give me Star Wars. I promise I won't look it in the mouth.**

* * *

It might be considered a very difficult task to find one ship in the vastness of space, very difficult indeed. And certainly, it was. No doubt about that. Searching for one tiny (by comparison) ship among several cubic light years of space is no easy task. Especially when the search area is expanding faster than the speed of light.

So Vader had thought for awhile on how, exactly, he was going to track down Grievous again. He knew the general direction he had jumped, but he also knew that a series of micro-jumps would be issued as soon as possible to prevent tracking. So that was useless.

He knew that Grievous would run and hide, not necessarily in an inhabited system at first, then regroup and attempt to get more forces. That gave him a reasonable list of moderate and final destinations, but no real idea where he would head immediately.

Vader _also_ knew that most spaceports held all sorts of unsavory characters. Smugglers, low-end bounty hunters, criminals, it was a safe bet to find all of these and more in any cheap bar. Another interesting tidbit was that these folk were willing to do just about anything for enough money.

This was how Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Heir to the Imperial Throne, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy, and former Jedi Knight found himself disembarking from his shuttle, standing in the rain on the front deck of the largest and seediest spaceport in Atrivis VII's biggest city, flanked by Commander Appo and Sergeant Flint, (Fought at the Jedi Temple and promoted after his predecessor was killed there) ready to bust down the door and start making demands.

Turning to Appo, he gestured towards the door and said, "Execute whenever you're ready, Commander."

Rain creating a constant _plink_ing noise off of his armour, Appo nodded and marched up to the door, eager to get out of the rain. The unlocked wooden gate was no match for his boot, and it gave, swinging open with a muddy footprint where he connected.

At the loud noise, the band inside immediately halted their song, and the patrons' hushed conversation abruptly stopped. A few reached for weapons from various places on their persons.

Appo, standing in the doorway, pointed his carbine around the crowded room and shouted, "Weapons down! Weapons down, or I start shooting!"

For a moment, it appeared that they might not actually have to shoot anybody. Hands were removed from cloaks and tunics; people visibly calmed themselves and attempted to look as non-threatening as possible.

It unfortunately wasn't meant to be.

One human male sitting in the far corner of the room panicked, continuing with the draw he had started. He only just got his blaster out of his rather baggy robes and started to stand before the Stormtrooper in the doorway fired at his chest. The bolt struck him, probably burning through a lung before coming out the other side and scorching the wall. The man let out a whimper and tumbled face first onto his table.

The other human sitting with him visibly paled, perhaps getting ready to be sick. He rose, just a little too quickly for Appo's liking, who trained the blaster on him and gestured towards the vacated seat. "Where do you think you're going?"

Raising his hands in a placating manner, the man slowly sat down again, struggling desperately not to look at his dead or dying friend.

Appo, satisfied, stepped to the right of the door, and allowed Sergeant Flint to take up his position on the left.

Then it was Vader's turn. Cloak sticking to his legs with the rain's moisture, he entered the doorway in one long stride. With another, he was in front of the closest table. The elderly couple sitting there shank back as he approached. Most of the room radiated fear. All eyes were on him.

First step: Promise a reward. The scum would be far more receptive if promised the fortune of their lives.

"The Empire is looking for employment," he began, deep voice booming over the crackling fire and the rain pattering outside, "I am prepared to offer a lump sum of 1 million Imperial Credits to the person whom is able to locate the _Independence_; a former Trade Federation _Lukrehulk _Control Ship. You may know it as General Grievous's flagship. Get me the location, and it's yours."

Vader crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't care how you find it, I don't care what you do when you find it so long as you notify me of it's location. It should be somewhere within 12 light-years of the system now." Looks of surprise appeared on several faces. Justified, considering the massive search area that entailed.

"You are encouraged to notify any friends you have of this effort. Sweep the entire sector if you have to.

Now, to finish off with a threat. "You will find the contact information for if you locate the target in your databases. You will also find detailed information on exactly what we're going to do to you, and your families, if you let this get out to anyone with ties to Grievous. But I know you wouldn't want to do that for a known terrorist and mass murderer, _especially_ with so much money on the line. Correct?" Nods and murmurs of assent filled the room, even if somewhat forced.

Satisfied, Vader turned, throwing a quick, "Good hunting," over his shoulder.

He was loath to head back out into the rain and mud, and the Stormtroopers appeared to be as well. (Not that they would show it. He probably wouldn't know if he couldn't sense their presence with the Force.) But the shuttle couldn't land in the cramped street outside the bar, and so the three of them had a few minutes to walk back towards the landing bay.

Along the way, Vader turned to Appo and said, "Good shot, Commander. I'd hate to have seen what that man's blaster would have done to you."

Ever professional, the trooper merely nodded and said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Though he was sure he didn't miss the appreciation or respect in his voice.

As they approached the shuttle, Vader noted the co-pilot standing at the top of the lowered ramp, waving him over. Vader lengthened his pace, leaving the Stormtroopers slightly behind him as he approached the shuttle.

"Report, Lieutenant."

To his credit, the co-pilot showed no fear as he looked up at the black armoured cyborg a quarter-metre taller than himself. "My lord, the _Exactor_ forwarded a message from the Emperor while you were away. He, erm... _requested_ that you return to the flagship immediately and contact him. The ship said it was most urgent." Appo had Flint enter the cockpit and tell the pilot to begin takeoff procedures.

"Was there anything else in the message, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. He gave the order to jump back to Coruscant as soon as you were on board the _Exactor_."

It was probably the wrong thing to say. Temporarily blinded with rage, Vader lashed out, taking hold (physical hold, it was more satisfying that way) of the co-pilot's vulnerable neck. And then he squeezed. Appo, knowing all too well his C.O.'s dangerous temper, retreated several steps to place himself out of reach.

"What did you say?" Vader asked, voice cold and threatening.

The co-pilot tried desperately to pry the inhuman hands off. "M-my lord..."

He tossed the man across the cabin like a ragdoll. The Lieutenant shakily tried to get up immediately afterwards, but his body decided that was a horrible idea, and he crumbled to the deck, back leaning against the wall and most likely with a few broken bones.

Vader pivoted to Appo, the only other person left standing in the room. "Bring us up to the ship, but belay the order to jump until _I_ give the word."

"Of course, sir." He paused for a second, glancing at the heavily wounded man sitting against the wall. "Sir, permission to perform first aid on the-"

"Denied, Commander!"

"Yes, sir!" Appo retreated into the cockpit at a pace just slightly faster than his normal walking speed, leaving Vader with his thoughts. With a sigh, he sat in his usual seat for the ascent.

He and Sidious would be sharing a few choice words.

* * *

The cantina was actually rather crowded. To be expected, honestly, considering the temperature outside. A sweltering 45 degrees in the _shade_ tended to encourage people to stay near the air conditioning.

'Old Ben' Kenobi had chosen today to head into Anchorhead to pick up his supplies for the next month. Food, repair parts, maybe even a little brandy, plus some junk to trade with the Jawas. All the things he would need to continue his life in solitude.

He'd gotten most of the food he'd need, picked up some random junk from a trash bin, and was now stopping in for lunch during the hottest part of the day before continuing his shopping trip. By 1300 hours, he would head out again, buy the rest of his required items, and start the long journey back to his hut.

But until then, he was thirsty, and needed to catch up on the news. And so he found himself in the Anchorhead Cantina, sitting at a bar and drinking somewhat muddy liquid, watching a static-filled news report.

Wow, this water was disgusting.

He raised a hand and waved the bartender over. Barkeep, a middle aged human male with a mop of ginger hair whom Obi-Wan had been somewhat friendly with on all of his previous visits, walked up, cleaning a glass with a rag not looking much better than the glass itself. Barkeep was essentially his name; everyone called him that and no-one Obi-Wan had talked to knew his real one.

"Howdy, Ben. What can I do for you?"

Raising his drink, Obi-Wan said with a rueful smile, "I was wondering if I could have anything that's a little more water and a lot less sand, if you would."

Grinning in a good-natured fashion, Barkeep said, "Sorry, Ben. That's the best the moisture farms could pull today. There was a sandstorm over most of the eastern Dune Sea yesterday, so that's the most water you're getting."

Obi-Wan nodded. He wasn't going to complain; it was still better than anything his old, decrepit moisturizers could do. "Alright then. Though I would like to take one of those bottles of Corellian Whiskey home with me, if you don't mind."

Barkeep nodded, and retreated into the back room to search for a bottle. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the holonews report.

There were the usual images of Imperial propaganda that no-one ever paid attention to, of course. The symbol of the Empire, Stormtroopers marching in an orderly fashion, a fleet of ISDs in orbit of a lush, green world. Then people started to actually look at the report; here came the more interesting news.

A dashing young news reporter with blond hair and baby blues materialized in front of everyone. "Hello, I'm Clyde Caldwell, Imperial Centre News 1, here with a breaking news report!" That, of course, meant several hours old, at least. More likely a few days.

The man continued on. "We're receiving news reports from the Generis System of a terrorist attack of unprecedented proportions. It appears that a former Confederate _Lukrehulk_ warship destroyed the garrison there and occupied the system. They maintained a base of operations on the surface of Atrivis VII for some time, before being routed from the area by Darth Vader and a group of his Majesty's glorious Star Destroyers. We'll head to Rachel Multzner, live on the surface.

A pang of loss hit Obi-Wan on hearing of Vader again. He was still coming to terms with that, after knowing who that really was under the black mask, and doubted he would ever be completely at ease when listening to that name. But for now, this terrorist attack held his attention.

"I'm Rachel Multzner, here planetside on Atrivis VII after a devastating attack on this planet's inhabitants," a small brunette said as the cam shifted to show a town square, littered with debris and repair crews. A small, round man stood somewhat nervously beside her, along with a disgruntled Imperial Governor and a few Stormtroopers.

"Prime Minister Fawbes," she said, turning to the little man who was apparently a professional politician. "Would you mind describing what occurred here for the people of the galaxy?"

Fawbes nodded quickly. "First off, I would like to convey my deepest and most sincere gratitude to the Imperial Navy and Lord Vader for freeing our planet. Without them, we would still be under the thumb of a horrible warlord. As such..."

Obi-Wan was unsure how much of this was his words and how much was being fed to him by the Empire, but nonetheless was getting ready to tune it out as a usual politician's speech. That was, until he heard the Prime Minister start to say something very important.

"...however, I have something _extremely_ important to say to the people of this great and just Empire. The warlord that I mentioned, well... he was none other than the mass murderer General Grievous."

The cantina filled with gasps of shock and cries of outrage. Obi-Wan sat slack-jawed, transfixed with the Minister. _How? Just... just, how?_

As if sensing the disbelief among his viewers, Fawbes said loudly, "No! It's not a trick! Not a trick, I have proof! Proof of this claim! Security recordings, eyewitness accounts! Look! See for yourselves!"

Recordings of several government officials and a few Imperial Officers played on the screen, to Obi-Wan's growing horror. But when the security recordings started appearing, Obi-Wan knew it had to be true. The people could be coerced, bribed, or blackmailed, and the security recordings _might_ have been faked. But both of them together, and in such great quantity? No, that was too much to fabricate.

So he sat there, rather numb throughout the rest of the broadcast. This wasn't nearly as bad as when he realized Anakin was still alive as Darth Vader, but it was still _bad_. Grievous was supposed to be _dead_. He had shot his exposed organs! Seen him _burst into flames_, for Force's sake! He shouldn't be able to recover from that. _Then again_, a voice whispered, _very similar things happened to Anakin... _Stop! He couldn't dwell on that now.

If Obi-Wan knew the General at all, he knew that the person Grievous would blame was him. That meant he was probably being hunted by _two_ vengeful cyborgs, both out for his blood. Lovely.

With that pleasant thought in his head, Barkeep walked out of the back room with the Corellian Whiskey he had requested. Sympathetic look on his face, he planted the bottle down in front of Obi-Wan. "There you are, Ben."

Nodding, still in a daze, he slid the appropriate money across the table, picked up the bottle, and popped off the cork. "Thanks, Barkeep," He muttered.

And with that, Obi-Wan took a good, long swig of the whiskey. It burned like hell going down.


End file.
